


A Taste of Rebellion

by JHsgf82



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Flirting, Fluff and Angst, Mentions of Violence, Romance, Warning: Mentions of alcohol, Warning: Mentions of drugs, Warning: Mentions of sex/prostitution
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:07:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 22,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23678113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JHsgf82/pseuds/JHsgf82
Summary: Prompt #68 (submitted by oakfarmer12): Dark Coffee Shop AU- Capitol Peeta runs a coffee/pastry shop in the poshest part of the Capitol nearby President Snow’s mansion.  Capitol Katniss is a frequent customer.  Things in the Capitol begin to deteriorate as the rebellion drags on.  Are they sympathetic to the rebel cause?Cover edit by:  katnissandpeeta125
Relationships: Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark
Comments: 27
Kudos: 28
Collections: Everlark Fic Exchange - Springtime 2020





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the characters, and I do all my own editing. Thanks to oakfarmer12 for the amazing idea! I don’t know if this will be what you had in mind or live up to any expectations you had, but I hope you enjoy it as well as everyone else who reads!
> 
> If Katniss is a little OOC, it’s probably due to her altered situation, living in the Capitol. She’s still a bit hardened, but not as much maybe. 
> 
> Special Thanks to evestedic and eiramrelyat for their feedback! And of course, thanks to oakfarmer12 for the awesome prompt! I’ve really enjoyed writing it!
> 
> Rating Change for Violence and Future sexual content (non-explicit, more implied than descriptive, but yeah, there may be some)

Prologue:

It all started with a spark as most great revolutions do. And that spark, Katniss Everdeen is sorry to say, she has inadvertently kindled. Without realizing or choosing, she’s joined a fight‒and she is fairly certain she’s on the wrong side...

Another unexpected complication of this whole mess is a man‒a man who couldn’t be more unlike her, nevertheless, one she’s fallen irrevocably in love with. He is the man she now feels tied to, whether she wants to be or not. She’s sure there’s no getting rid of him‒he’ll probably follow her to the ends of the earth for the strength of what binds them, but the problem is, she wants to stay right where she was. He is the one who wants to leave, and he’s insisting she go with him…

And this turn of events, which has spiraled so far out of her control, is all due to a chance meeting in a coffee shop with a blond stranger on Katniss’s worst of days.

Part I

It’s a fluke that Katniss first ends up at Capitol Coffee, or, to use its full name, Mellark & Sons Capitol Coffee. Then again, perhaps, it was predetermined. She might think so if she believed in fate or anything mystical like that, and she’s not sure that she does. All she knows is that it’s no accident she goes inside. It’s the dandelion that draws her in…

The significance of the dandelion for Katniss goes back a number of years. Dandelions remind her so much of her father because they used to pick them together in the woods. They’d add them to salads or munch on them for a snack. She even brought a large bouquet of them home to her sister, Primrose, one day, and the look on her face was priceless. Their mother, who was a nurse, pointed out the medicinal uses for them and proceeded to snatch a few, for medical purposes, she said, even though they had plenty of top-quality Capitol medical supplies on hand. And Katniss gave the rest to Prim. Prim went nuts over them. Grinning from ear to ear, she proceeded to place them everywhere, in vases all around the house, in her hair, in Katniss’s hair… Prim always could appreciate the simpler things in life; proof-positive, she’d take a plain weed over the most elegant and expensive floral arrangement any day.

Memories such as this one have been rising up all day like bile. Katniss supposes it’s because today is an anniversary, and not a pleasant one. This particular anniversary is one she would love to forget but knows will be burned into her brain until the day she dies…

Katniss has been standing outside the coffee shop for who knows how long considering going in for a drink when she glimpses the freestanding chalkboard on the sidewalk announcing the specials. The drinks and pastries are written in the fanciest, most beautiful handwriting she’s ever seen, but it’s the drawings that really catch her eye: A loaf of bread, a bird, a sunset in various hues of colorful chalk, and a dandelion. Her stormy eyes fix on the bright yellow weed-herb. It’s the most intricate representation of a dandelion she’s ever seen outside of a formal plant book. It’s as if the thing has sprung from the board and come to life. Whoever this person is who draws on the specials board has an artful hand and has truly missed their calling. Then again, maybe he or she only knows how to doodle.

Despite being a Capitol citizen from an esteemed family, Katniss doesn’t frequent Capitol hotspots. A simple girl at heart, she prefers nature to high-end boutiques, her father’s old hunting jacket and a simple bird necklace to furs and strings of jewels, a home-cooked meal to Haute cuisine, and the company of herself or a few close family members to lavish social gatherings. In fact, Katniss has always felt kind of like an outsider here in the Capitol, never truly believing she belongs in the lap of luxury. It’s just one of those things, she supposes, as if she was born in the wrong place, in the wrong century, even.

But that’s nonsense, and Katniss is practical. She knows it’s senseless to imagine things differently than they are, even though there is one particular thing she really wishes was different. Even so, it’s best she accepts the way things are. There’s no use complaining about what you do or don’t have, especially when you have much. And she does.

Katniss and her family have never wanted for anything; they have everything they could need or want, and even more since that fateful day, that is, save for one thing. But what-if thinking is as useless as gazing off into the distance, pretending you’re elsewhere, which consequently, she often does…

Katniss’s favorite place to be is the woods, the one place she feels utterly at peace and closest to him. Even her room is one giant simulation of a forest, and she’s been known to spend hours gazing at the walls, just staring at the greens and browns until they all blended together and she could practically hear the songs of the birds, the chatter of the small creatures, and the trickling of a nearby stream, until she’s been transported there fully in her mind.

But it’s not all from imagination. Katniss has actually visited the woods in reality many times, and she’d wanted to do so today, but with the Hunger Games impending, it would have been next to impossible…

***

If she could have, Katniss would have traveled north, across the border and into the lush forests of District 7 where her father used to take her as a child. There are an abundance of trees and animals there, and they would take their homemade bows and go hunting. It wasn’t that they needed food‒they had plenty‒they hunted for the sport of it. But that wasn’t to say they wasted the meat. Her father never believed in being wasteful, so everything they killed was either eaten or used in some way‒to make a pouch, a knife sheath, a utensil, even a purse for her mother or little sister. Her father said he got the idea from native peoples who long ago lived on this land and used every part of an animal.

As far as archery went, Katniss had enjoyed learning. It quickly became her favorite activity, and she got really good at it. Her father always insisted she never show her skill, though, even if it was being practiced in school. When she’d asked why, he told her: “You never know when a certain skill may come in handy, Katniss, and you might not want others knowing just how good you are at it.”

At the time, she didn’t understand. Didn’t most people want others to know when they were good at something? For the bragging rights. Well, not her, perhaps. She always preferred keeping a low profile, never craving the attention of others, save for her father. Having his praise was enough.

Alongside her father, Katniss had learned the thrill of the hunt, and with that, she’d discovered how much she enjoyed the taste of wild game. Somehow, it tasted even better than the delicacies of the Capitol, that is, all except for lamb stew, her favorite dish. Unfortunately, she’d never seen any lamb roaming about, so killing one and cooking it into a stew to see if it tasted different was out of the question. The Capitol must get them from somewhere, though.

Lamb stew aside, the meat Katniss and her father came home with tasted the best. Perhaps it was the natural flavor on her tongue, the lack of processing and additives, but she suspected it had more to do with the satisfaction of knowing she’d brought it home herself, through her own skill. She’d tracked and felled the beast, always doing her best to ensure a quick, clean kill, usually straight through the eye and into the brain or piercing a vital organ so as not to let the animal suffer as her father had taught her. She couldn’t explain it, but somehow, a meal she’d had to work for gave her far greater pleasure, each bite being synonymous with triumph.

Those were the happiest times of her life…

***  
How Katniss wishes her father were here with her today. If he were, he’d be off work, so she’d ask him to take her to their favorite place. They’d leave just before sun-up when the world is dark and still, and most of the Capitolites, including her mother and sister, are sound asleep. They’d stealthily sneak out of the city and into the woods of District 7, but not because anyone would stop them‒at most, one of the Peacekeepers guarding the border might raise a brow or perhaps ask for identification, for what Capitol citizen would want to leave and go to the districts? But, no, they’d do it for the excitement of it all. For Katniss and her father, there was always something alluring about remaining invisible.

But there’s no use wishing or thinking about him at length, because he’s gone. Gone forever.

Katniss misses her father terribly; it’s an ever-present ache, but it’s especially difficult today, on the 10-year anniversary. Yes, it was exactly ten years ago to the day that her father was killed...

***  
He had a fancy job in the Nut, the principal military facility supplying the Capitol. It was a rather long commute to District 2 by train, which resulted in him getting home later than her mother liked, but the job was good, so it made it worthwhile. He’d worked there ever since Katniss was a small child, and that’s where it happened…

Her father’s death was called a freak accident, but Katniss knew better. She knew that was just a cover-up. The excuse was far too flimsy; there were too many blanks left unfilled by the official who came to inform and compensate her family for their tremendous loss. And besides, she knew her father. He was beyond cautious in all he did, and he’d told her about how things worked in the Nut, secret things, even‒and those kinds of ‘accidents’ didn’t just happen.

No, it was the rebels; it had to be. Although nothing was ever confirmed or televised about it, there was speculation. And Katniss, for one, was certain. She knew it was those filthy, treacherous rebels who were responsible for taking her father away from her.

Everyone in the Capitol knew of the rebels. They’d been taught from a young age about the rebellion and the Treaty of Treason, about the ungratefulness of the district people and the despicable lengths to which they would go. They just couldn’t accept the class distinction or their lot in life, and they just had to come after those who had more than them.

One would think they’d have learned their lesson after the Dark Days. Wasn’t the annihilation of an entire district and the penalty of the Hunger Games enough for them to stay in line and live peacefully? Although, in Katniss’s mind, they’d gotten off easy, especially considering the generosity shown by the Capitol in allowing for a Victor each year, even more so in bestowing riches and food upon said Victor and his or her district. The Hunger Games were a punishment but also a gift of hope, and the districts should be grateful.

But there will always be those who desire more…

In the Capitol, they’d been told the rebels were no longer a threat, but Katniss could argue with that. Even if the alleged attack on the Nut was a feeble attempt at best, it had taken her father from her, and thus, she would forever despise the rebels. Not that her hatred could do a damn thing to bring her father back.

Their selfishness infuriated Katniss, honestly. Didn’t they think she knew about hard times and loss, too? Case in point, she’d been only 13, and her sister only 9, when they lost their father.

Losing a father at such a pivotal age was hard enough when not combined with having a mother who checked out afterward. When their father died, their mother went into a deep depression. She stopped working as a nurse in a Capitol hospital; she could hardly get out of bed and barely spoke, and she basically ignored her two daughters. They, fortunately, had plenty of money coming in from their father’s settlement, so putting food in their mouths wasn’t an issue; although, for a time, Katniss had to practically force-feed her mother. And with a mother who was basically useless, it fell to Katniss to buy and prepare the food, take care of their home, and raise Prim.

Prim helped her out as best she could, but for a barely teenaged girl just hitting puberty to be responsible for an entire family was absurd and unfair. In Katniss’s mind, there was no excuse for the way her mother reacted, and henceforth, she vowed never to ‘fall in love.’ It was ridiculous, after all, to feel so strongly for someone as to become a shell of the person you once were and neglect everything and everyone around you when they’re gone. Katniss refused to take a chance on becoming such a pitiful mess should something happen to her hypothetical lover. Thus, the teen years were somewhat lost on her. She didn’t really have many normal experiences that teens have, least of all those related to guys.

***  
Katniss refocuses on the specials board outside Capitol Coffee. Now that she’s seen the dandelion, it’s decided‒she will go inside. She doesn’t care so much about meeting the artist, but it’s like a sign, or would be, if she believed in signs. Today is different, though; today she does… So, she quells lingering thoughts of sorrow and revenge, hardens her expression, and pushes through the door to the coffee shop. A little bell tinkles announcing her arrival.

Katniss immediately takes a look around. The coffee shop isn’t very large, but it has plenty of seating in the form of round, mahogany tables and chairs. There’s also a lounge area with plush armchairs and a sectional couch. The space is softly lit by pendant lights, and Katniss is transfixed for a moment because she swears the hanging lights almost look like dandelions in their white, puffy stage when they’re ready to spread their seeds. The decor is sparse, mostly paintings of settings and people. It’s eclectic, yet simple. Katniss isn’t sure how to describe it, but if she had to sum up with one word, she’d call it...homey. There’s almost a small-town atmosphere to it, and in a way, it reminds her of a den, an escape from the outside world. If she can’t be in the woods today, she supposes this is an acceptable alternative.

The people are scattered throughout the seating area and at the bar in the back, all dressed to the nines as most citizens of the Capitol do. Her fellow Capitolites keep well-caffeinated as a general rule, so coffee shops are popular, but it’s not exactly peak coffee hour. And right now, most people will be working important high-profile jobs, shopping, or indulging in whatever frivolous activity best suits them.

Katniss thoroughly surveys her surroundings as she’s been taught to do. “Always be aware of your surroundings,” her father used to say. He taught her to not only use her eyes but all of her senses, including a more elusive kind, a sixth sense. He said she had it, and he assured her that, although he hoped she’d never experience it, she’d know if she was ever in danger. He said she’d just feel it in her gut.

Katniss has never experienced real danger, and she certainly shouldn’t have anything to fear in a posh Capitol coffee shop not far from President Snow’s mansion, but she always takes precautions‒it was a lesson that stuck with her. The most she’s ever had to worry about was being ogled by strangers while walking the streets of the Capitol. This has happened several times, but there’s one particular time she recalls vividly…

***  
It was a few years back. Katniss was heading to the store when she passed a man on the street, and she caught him watching her. Although she pretended to ignore it, she definitely didn’t like the look he had. His eyes seemed to burn into her like fire as he looked her up and down, undoubtedly appraising her body. Said man was an older man, probably in his forties, at least twenty years older than her or more.

She felt that sense of danger her father spoke of then; it was like the dread she imagined prey feels when it’s being stalked. But she wouldn’t give him the opportunity to pursue her. He did begin to follow, so she put the hood of her cloak up and headed away from the store and into a larger crowd, hoping to lose the creep. That’s when he called out to her.

“Hey, it’s me!” he shouted, pretending to know her. And then he suggested they go for a drink and catch up.

Of course, Katniss had never seen the man before in her life, and if he really knew her, he’d use her name. At that moment, she wished she’d brought her bow. Although she couldn’t just murder a man in the street, or even injure him, for the Peacekeepers would be on her instantly, she could at least scare him. And it would bring her a sense of peace to have her weapon. Of course, that wouldn’t bode well for her, either. Weapons weren’t allowed on the streets, only by Peacekeepers, but even if they were alone in some alley and she had her bow, she still didn’t think she could take a shot at him, as much as she might want to. It wasn’t like shooting an animal.

Fortunately, she was able to lose the man in the crowd, but it had frightened her. From then on, she always wore her hood up when she went out in public. And it worked out for the best, especially considering she didn’t enjoy idle conversation with random strangers.

***  
Thinking back on it, Katniss secures her hood tighter around her face and makes her way to the long bar in the back, where she assumes they serve the drinks. There’s no stupid illuminated sign shouting out the obvious, which she actually finds refreshing. Instead, the bar is lit with more of those dandelion lights, smaller ones. Along the way, she passes a woman dressed in layers of multicolored furs and wearing a giant hat made of peacock feathers.

Katniss doesn’t buy into the latest Capitol fashions, especially not the color-changing skin. She doesn’t wear alluring or tight-fitting clothing, either‒she doesn’t have the breasts for it but wouldn’t even if she did‒so it’s strange that the man on the street took notice of her, let alone leered and so boldly pursued her. Today, Katniss is dressed as she usually is, in a long, asymmetrical tunic with chiffon edges, leggings, and boots. The tunic is green, as is a large portion of her clothing, and the leggings and boots are black. She wears a velvet cloak over her clothing, also green, which she usually keeps the hood of up‒to discourage people from talking to her.

In spite of that, the woman in fur and feathers glances up at her and smiles, probably out of politeness. Katniss merely gives a curt nod as her eyes quickly dart away, for even that was more social interaction than she typically likes. And today, of all days, she wants to be left alone; she just wants to have a drink and go.

She finds a seat at the end of the bar and slides onto the stool. Not long after, a man steps out of a back room and approaches the bar.

He’s approximately her age, dressed in a plain white, slightly snug t-shirt, and he has a white apron tied around his waist. He’s medium height, stocky build, and his hair is ashy-blond and falls in waves over his forehead. When he sees her, he stops dead in his tracks and does a double-take.

He resumes walking toward her, and she then catches sight of his eyes. Blue. The bluest of blue. So blue they look plucked straight out of the sky. She also notices that his face seems oddly familiar… Maybe it’s just the kind of face one feels like they know, but she’s never experienced such a thing before.

“Hello.” He stands before her now, smelling of cinnamon and dill and giving her the kind of smile she imagines he greets old friends with. “Welcome to…” He stumbles over his words as if he’s forgotten the name of the business he works at‒perhaps he hasn’t worked here long. “Capitol Coffee,” he quickly inserts, his pale cheeks growing rosy.

Katniss eyes him warily, and upon deciding she doesn’t get a bad feeling from him, she removes her hood. Revealed is her dark hair, falling in a double dutch braid down her back. She brushes back the ringlets framing her face, which have partially obscured her vision, and tucks them neatly behind her ears.

The man’s lips part, and he stares.

Katniss is trying to figure out why. She doesn’t think herself beautiful by any means; she’s not fashionable and her features are plain, and she isn’t into makeup. She does, however, wear a sweep of mascara and forest green eyeshadow, which perfectly matches her cloak‒it wasn’t her intention, but green just happens to be her favorite color. Prim had convinced her to try the makeup one time, and she even helped her select some that would complement her gray eyes and olive skin tone. And she ended up liking it, so she kept it up.

The man continues to stare.

His intense, focused gaze should unnerve her, but it only makes her curious. Maybe it’s because the delicate blue of his eyes is serene, or maybe it’s because he’s not looking at her in a lascivious manner. Or, maybe...maybe it’s because he’s nice to look at.

As for her looks, they’re wholly unimpressive, even though it’s not the first time she’s gotten such a reaction from a guy.

Katniss doesn’t like feeling on display, at all, but this man isn’t looking at her hungrily as other Capitolite men have, such as the one who chased her through the streets. Rather, he’s gazing upon her almost...reverently. There is more appreciation than desire in his eyes as if he’s looking at a piece of art in a museum. That thought makes her even more uncomfortable than if he were ogling her...

The man is still staring, and it begins to get to her. Her cheeks heat up, and she’s tempted to put her hood back up. She reaches for it, but then he blinks slowly, and she becomes distracted by the longest set of golden eyelashes she’s ever seen. She’s wondering if they’re real when his eyes flit shyly away.

“Sorry, uh…you just look...familiar,” he finally utters, rubbing the back of his neck.

She considers telling him he does, too, but that might come across as flirting, so she says nothing. In fact, neither of them speaks for at least several seconds longer than anyone should remain silent in a normal situation such as this.

The man looks directly at her again, his expression more subdued now. “So, anyway, what can I get for you?” he asks, giving her another friendly smile.

“Well, um, I...don’t know…” Her eyes dart from side to side. She isn’t an alcohol-drinker, though she’s tempted to ask him for something alcoholic, perhaps a drink with just a bit of alcohol added to it. For...comfort. It’s silly to think of drink or food as comforting, but she supposes it can be. This craving must be similar to the way Prim gets about holiday cookies and chocolates; she says they give her a warm feeling. Likewise, their aunt, her mother’s sister, who lives not far from here, is very fond of caviar, and when she eats it, she says she feels like the finest lady in all of the Capitol. Could alcohol bring about that same effect for her? Katniss wonders. But she doesn’t even know enough to know what to ask for, and that would be embarrassing.

The blond barista smiles warmly at her indecision and points to the specials board. “Take all the time you need,” he says genuinely.

Katniss glances up at the board on the wall, and she’s reminded of the chalkboard outside, the one that brought her in. There are more drawings on this board, and they are just as impressive as the ones outside‒Mr. or Ms. Artist has done it again. Her eyes flit across the doodles as she peruses the menu. No alcohol is listed. Perhaps it’s too early for that. But no, she thinks. This is the Capitol, where there’s no shortage of fine food and drink and no one ever needs an excuse for indulging to their heart’s content at any time of day.

But Katniss doesn’t know what to choose. Meanwhile, the barista is leaning his side into the counter, waiting and smiling.

“I, uh, like the drawings,” she stammers, pointing to the board. It’s her best attempt at stalling and breaking the tension, and she’s curious.

His eyes shift upward, then back down to her. “Thank you,” he replies.

She’s confused. Are they his, or is he just taking credit for them?

“They aren’t much, just something I scribbled in my spare time,” he answers her unspoken question.

“You’re the artist?”

“Well, I don’t know if I’d use the term ‘artist,’ but I do enjoy sketching and painting.”

Oh, the modest type...

“I only dabble in it,” he goes on to say, “and my skill level isn’t much, but I guess anyone who produces art can call themselves an artist.” He smooths down his wrinkled apron. “So yeah, I guess I am.”

Just accept the compliment, she demands with her eyes. She doesn’t give them often, after all.

“Well, I don’t know anything about art, but I think they’re good.”

“Why thank you.” He gives her that warm smile again, and this time it does something funny to her stomach. She lowers her eyes and stares at her hands.

And apparently, she’s broken some kind of seal because it doesn’t take long for the blond guy to show his true colors. Most notably, he’s not nearly as shy and awkward as she first thought.

In fact, since those initial awkward moments, he only becomes smoother and more confident in his speech and mannerisms with each passing minute. She can definitely tell he has a way with words and with people. He’s witty and charming, too charming.

Katniss lets him do most of the talking. It’s safer that way.

After a few, mostly one-way, verbal exchanges, he apologizes and asks politely if she’s decided on what she wants.

She hasn’t.

“May I suggest something?” he asks when she hesitates. She nods. “Do you like hot chocolate?”

“I don’t know. Never tried it.”

“You’ve never tried hot chocolate?” he says with an incredulous wrinkle of his brow. He looks so flabbergasted that she might as well have said she eats dog stew and spends her days frolicking through the woods picking berries.

She shakes her head at the ludicrous mental image.

“Well, then, it’s decided. You have to try it. And ours is the best, by the way. I promise you won’t regret it.”

The barista leaves for a few minutes and returns with a large, steaming mug. He places it in front of her, and her nose is immediately ambushed, in a pleasant way, by hot air and the scent of chocolate. It smells peaceful, somehow, like the way the house did that time Prim attempted those homemade chocolates. She tried to shape them like woodland creatures; they looked awful, though Katniss would never say that to her face. But the important thing was, they tasted good.

“Careful now,” the man says. “Blow on it first and test it. Don’t burn your tongue.”

Katniss scowls at him. She’s not a child; she knows how to drink a hot beverage. Regardless, he’s right, and she follows his advice before taking a cautious sip.

And she doesn’t regret it, not one bit. In fact, from the first sip, she knows she’s a goner. No other taste will ever live up to the sweet nectar caressing her tongue and gliding silkily down her throat, she’s absolutely certain. And she’s tasted a lot of fine food and drink. There’s just something about it...hot chocolate...it’s not just the sweetness but the warmth it creates in her belly, unlike any other hot beverage. It tastes like...comfort...home. It’s exactly what she needed today.

“Like it?” He asks.

She nods and eagerly takes another sip. And he’s clearly pleased.

“I can’t believe you’ve never had it.” The guy shakes his head, and his broad shoulders follow suit as he silently chuckles. “Where’ve you been living, under a rock?”

She scoffs. “Well, have you ever had venison?”

His look is part confusion, part disgust, though he tries to mask it. “Like, meat from deer?”

“Yes.”

“Uh, no. Can’t say that I have.”

“Didn’t think so,” she rebukes.

“Am I really missing out?” he teases. Obviously, he doesn’t think that sounds appealing. He’s clearly wondering why a person would eat something like that when, here in the Capitol, they have the finest foods in Panem at their fingertips.

“Yes. You are.”

“Well, bring me some next time,” he says. She’s sure he’s bluffing, but she plans to do it. She wants to wipe that grin off his lips. Or, maybe she’ll bring him a squirrel instead and force him to eat that.

Wait. What is this? Talking openly. Joking. Discussing bringing him meat and force-feeding him squirrel? And dare she say those shyly flirtatious little glances he’s been tossing her way. How has this man gotten her to lower her guard this much already? It makes her a bit uneasy, even though she still gets no sense of alarm from him.

What is alarming, however, is that she thinks she might like him already‒this guy whose name she doesn’t even know.

“Next time?” she questions.

“Yeah. You are going to come back, right? I mean, you liked the drink, so...” There’s a hopeful glint in those deep blue eyes which seem to change color when the light catches them just right.

Katniss presses her lips together. “I might.”

He smiles at her again‒he does that a little too often, but she thinks she likes it. Although she’s not crazy about the initial flip of her stomach, afterward, a nice warmth settles in; it’s almost like sitting by a roaring fire. She fiddles with the handle of her mug, then raises it. Her lips linger on the lip of the cup as she stares out into space for a bit before finally taking another drink.

Katniss continues sipping at her hot chocolate, and it’s nearly gone in a few minutes. She’d planned to take her time savoring it, but it’s just too good for that. After a while, she notices the barista has been watching her with a concerned look on his face.

“You know, nothing says comfort like hot chocolate,” he says. It feels like a leading remark.

Comfort. Yes. But how does he know that’s what she came looking for? He can’t possibly. It must just be something said about this particular drink, or...maybe this man is perceptive.

She’s beginning to change her mind about him, no longer feeling as though he’s completely harmless. In fact, he might be extremely cunning. He looks and acts sweet and innocent‒he’s practically the male equivalent of Prim‒but she suspects he’s trouble. Maybe even dangerous… For one, he’s managed to break down her immediate defenses and get her talking, even joking around with him.

"You know, if you want to talk about something, I’ve been told I’m a good listener.”

And now he wants to know more… She’s sure this guy is just one of those kind, helpful types, probably full of plenty of unwanted advice, too. But no man, no one, is as pure as he seems...well, maybe Prim. Her alone.

Yet, there’s this seemingly genuine sweetness about him, and that face...those blue eyes, the dimples, the strong, square jaw, which she’s sure could be the undoing of many a woman, though not her. Yes, she’s convinced‒he’s definitely dangerous.

“Why do you assume I want to talk about something?” she asks skeptically.

“Just an instinct,” he replies.

Katniss tightens her lips. “Well, it’s wrong. And...even if I did, why would I tell my troubles to a perfect stranger?”

Something lights in his eyes then, and she can’t quite read his expression. It’s frustrating to not know what he’s thinking.

“But don’t you think sometimes that’s easier?” he finally speaks.

“What?”

“To unburden yourself to someone you don’t know well. They have no…,” he pauses, “connection to you, and you'll probably never see them again." After a tick, he adds, "Although, in this case, I hope that’s not true."

He’s a smooth operator.

She doesn’t justify it with a response.

But maybe he’s right; maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to confide in someone once in a while. She’s so used to being the caregiver and the protector that she’s never thought about someone looking after her needs, be they physical or emotional. She doesn’t even really tell Prim her deepest thoughts.

But no, she knows nothing about this man. He could be trying to lure her into a false sense of security; for what reason, she doesn’t know, but it’s suspicious. She just can’t believe he’s as genuine as he seems.

“If you don’t want to talk, I understand, but I just don’t think there’s anything wrong with confiding in someone,” he persists. “Sometimes it’s best to get what’s bothering you out, so it doesn’t eat away at you.”

Why is he pressing this? Can’t he see she doesn’t want to talk about it? It’s frustrating her almost to the point of tears, and she doesn’t want to do something stupid like cry in front of him.

Abruptly, she stands and pulls up her hood.

“Oh, I’m-I’m sorry.” He holds up his hands in a placating manner. “Wait, please don’t go. We really don’t have to talk, at all. We can just sit here in silence.”

But it’s too late. The damage is done, and she just wants to get out of here as soon as possible.

“How much for the hot chocolate?” she asks curtly, digging into the pockets of her cloak.

“Uh, it’s...no charge,” he mutters.

“What?” Gray eyes lock on blue. “No. I don’t want you to get in trouble with your boss.”

“I won’t,” he says.

She shakes her head. “No, I have money.” After all, she doesn’t know his motivations, and she hates owing people. He tries to argue and makes up some crap about first-time customers being on the house, but the look on her face cuts him off.

He gives in and tells her the price, and she plunks the money down on the counter and walks out. She makes it about halfway to the door, fighting the urge to look back the entire time. She loses the battle and subtly glances back over her shoulder, and he’s watching her walk away.

***  
Katniss’s decision to return only two days later is partly out of guilt and partly the desire to see him again‒because, like it or not, he’s been on her mind. She tells herself it’s because she behaved so badly when he was being so nice. Therefore, she needs to make amends. It’s the right thing to do; it’s what her father would tell her to do.

She doubts he’ll be thrilled to see her after she left so rudely in the middle of their conversation. And she understands. How was he to know what she was going through and that she didn’t want to talk about it? He was just trying to be nice.

But the point is moot because when she arrives, he doesn’t seem to be there. Katniss looks around, even cranes her neck, trying to get a peek through the ajar door to the back. No blond guy in sight. Instead, behind the counter is a dark-haired man wearing black clothing and gold eyeshadow, who looks strangely familiar.

“Looking for someone?” The man with the eyeshadow stealthily approaches her.

“No.” She shakes her head but then hesitates. “Well, actually...last time I was here there was a blond man…”

“Ah, you must be talking about Peeta.”

“Peeta,” she nods, “yes.”

The man observes her, grinning faintly, waiting for her to go on.

Katniss releases a small breath. “Yes, well, Peeta knows how to make this drink I like.”

The man with the gold eyeshadow smiles knowingly. “I’m sorry, he’s not here, miss. But I can take a crack at that drink of yours. I’m sure I can handle it.”

“Oh. Um, yeah okay...” What else is she going to say? Her eyes flit to the doodles on the chalkboard, though she knows precisely what she wants. “Hot chocolate.”

“Ah, I see Peeta won you over.”

“What?”

“That’s his drink of choice, too. He’s always pushing it.”

The strangest thought pops into Katniss’s head then–she wonders how many women Peeta’s flirted with while taking their orders like she thought he was with her. But maybe that’s just the way he is with everyone. In a way, it irritates her to think she’s one of the many or that he was just trying to sell her stuff. But she shakes it off.

The man with the eyeshadow goes to fetch her drink and returns not long after. He sets it down in front of her, and she taste-tests it. Although it’s very good, there’s something different about the one Peeta made. She doesn’t say so, however, and simply thanks the man. As she sips at her hot chocolate, it comes to her why this man looks so familiar.

“You were a stylist in the Games, weren’t you?”

“Yes, I was. But I…,” he hesitates, “retired.”

He seems a bit young to retire, and Katniss isn’t sure she believes him. Whatever the cause, there’s definitely more to it than he’s letting on, but she’s not going to pry.

“I’m Cinna,” the former stylist says.

“Cinna.” That’s right. “Pleased to meet you. You were great in the Games.”

“Thank you. And you are?”

“Katniss Everdeen,” she tells him.

“Everdeen,” Cinna says her name slowly, thoughtfully.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing. I just think I came across an Everdeen at one point.”

Katniss decides not to think too much about his comment, and instead, she enjoys her drink. She doesn’t stay as long as the last time, even with the abrupt leave, but she decides to go ahead and like Cinna. He’s down-to-earth and friendly, and he lets her be, unlike Peeta. It should be a relief to be served by Cinna rather than Peeta, but it’s not. She still has that gnawing feeling in her gut that she gets whenever she leaves something unfinished…

***  
Katniss waits a few days, then goes back again to Capitol Coffee. She takes a seat in her usual spot and removes her hood; she looks around, but she doesn’t see Peeta. Inwardly, she groans. It’s foolish to come here a second time looking for him, probably to no avail, but still, she needs to apologize. She takes another look around and is prepared to leave before anyone sees her and comes over to take her order when she hears a small grunt. It comes from beneath the table. She places her hands on the bar and leans forward to take a look. And that’s when she sees a curly, blond mop poking out from the underside of the counter.

Katniss casually glances over the edge, and the corners of her lip reflexively curl up. Peeta is down there, bent over, fumbling with something, and he seems to really be struggling.

“Need some help?” she asks. And Peeta jumps up, barely missing knocking his head against the bar in the process.

He quickly stands up. This time, he’s dressed in black, stylish yet casual, and his curly hair has a messy bedhead look to it. He glances her direction, and when he locks eyes on her, she swears his face lights up.

Peeta approaches, smiling tentatively, his blue eyes twinkling. “Heyy,” he drawls. “You came back.”

“Yeah,” she mumbles, lowering her gaze to her hands. She wonders if Cinna told him she was here before.

“I’m glad.”

Her eyes dart up to his face. “You are?”

“Yeah.” He smiles widely as if he can’t help it. “I am.”

They have a genuine, real moment before Katniss lowers her gaze, her cheeks warming.

She hates that Peeta has this effect on her every time‒it must be because he’s so free with his flattery and says things that can easily be misconstrued.

It’s then that she notices the weight of her necklace against her chest, but not the bare skin over her sternum as usual; it has popped out of its resting place. She takes the pendant in her hand, tracing the embellished wings of the bird and thinking of her father. The necklace is simple, gifted to her by her father many years ago, just because he loved her, he said. She assumes he chose a bird because it’s part of nature, and he knew she loved that. She stares down at the bird, still unsure which breed it is. She fiddles with it some more, finally tucking it back inside her shirt when she catches Peeta noticing it.

“Look,” she speaks up, deciding to get straight to the point. “I wanted to tell you that...I’m sorry about the way I acted last week,” she rushes the apology out of her mouth.

“Oh.” He blinks a few times, those long, golden eyelashes fluttering like tiny butterflies. “You don’t have to‒”

“No, I do. I was having a bad day. I’m not usually like that,” she blurts the last part out, though she doesn’t know why. It’s completely untrue. She’s always like that, and Prim would testify to it.

Peeta simply smiles, and Katniss instantly feels all is forgiven. But then again, Peeta is different. He seems not at all the type to hold a grudge, and his face backs it up. His eyes and lips seem to say there was no need for an apology in the first place. But she feels better now.

Now that that’s out of the way, the mood seems to lighten, and Peeta leans against the bar, smiling, of course. “So, what’ll it be, sweetheart?"

Sweetheart? She scowls at him, and he lets out a throaty chuckle.

“I take it you don’t like that.”

She keeps the scowl plastered on for confirmation.

“I’m sorry. I only call you that because you never said your name. You can’t expect me to just know it, can you?” He grins.

“You never asked, and you didn’t say yours, either,” she retorts, even though she’s already learned his name from Cinna.

“That’s true. Fair enough; I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

“That’s okay,” Katniss says obstinately.

He does something unexpected then. He folds his arms and stares her down, his countenance determined. He’s going to make this difficult, of course.

“Shall I guess, then?” he finally says.

Katniss rolls her eyes. Even though it might be entertaining to have him try and guess her name, she’s not interested in games. She shakes her head. “No.” She pauses a moment before mumbling, “It’s Katniss. Katniss Everdeen.”

“Katniss Everdeen.” His blue eyes shoot skyward, and he strokes his dimpled chin. “I like it. It’s unique.” He looks back at her. “Do you want to know mine?”

“Not necessary,” she tersely replies. And she can’t tell whether the hurt in his expression is real or not. “And I’ll have hot chocolate, I guess.”

He recovers quickly. “Can’t get enough, eh? Had to come back for more.” He gives her a little wink, and she wants to pull up her hood and hide in it.

What happened to the shy guy she first met? Was that all an act?

Peeta seems to take the hint and tells her he’ll go and make her drink. He leaves for several minutes but returns empty-handed.

Seconds later, a tall, beautiful woman comes up behind him. Her hair is thick, platinum blonde, and crimped, undoubtedly a wig; she’s wearing black lipstick, pinkish-purple eyeshadow, a frilly minidress, black, translucent stockings and black high heels. Katniss is baffled by how she can walk in those things all day.

“Here you go, Peeta. You forgot this,” the woman says sweetly, handing him the steaming mug.

Peeta’s pale cheeks flush lightly. “Well, that’s embarrassing,” he says. A small smile graces Katniss’s lips. “Thanks, Portia.”

Portia? That’s right. She was also a stylist in the Games, like Cinna; in fact, she was his partner, Katniss recalls. She’d thought she looked familiar when she came out.

So, she works here, too. Had Cinna convinced Portia to go along with him when he left? And why? Why would a person give up a good job like Stylist in the Games? Maybe Cinna was lying and they were both fired, although that seems unlikely, considering they were the best ones. Their Tributes were always the best-dressed, at least in Katniss’s opinion.

“Sure thing, boss.” Portia winks at Peeta.

Boss?

When Portia’s gone and Katniss turns back to Peeta he has this look on his face like a child who’s just had his favorite toy taken away. It’s probably because Peeta thinks Portia ruined his fun by saying his name.

“So, it’s Peeta, huh?” Katniss says with mild interest, deciding to throw him a bone and play as if it’s the first time his name has been revealed.

“Yeah. Peeta Mellark.” He places the mug in front of her and comes a bit closer, extending his hand‒he smells even more strongly of spices today. Tentatively, Katniss accepts it, and he wraps his large hand around hers.

His hand is warm and a bit rough, but it’s not exactly unpleasant when his fingertips graze her wrist. As for his shake, it’s gentle but firm; he even adds an extra squeeze near the end. It lasts about 3 to 5 seconds, and oddly, Katniss is sorry to see Peeta let go.

After they’ve retracted their hands, Peeta steps back and motions for her to drink. She nods and takes hold of the thin handle, bringing it to her lips. At the last second, she remembers to test it and blows on it a few times.

“Mm” escapes her lips upon finishing her first cautious sip. She’s already missed this flavor.

“Good?” He raises a brow hopefully.

“Uh, yeah. Really good.” Katniss’s nose wrinkles up. And different. It’s not the same as the last time he made it.

“I added a little something to it,” Peeta says, noting her appraisal of it.

At that, Katniss’s eyes widen and shoot up to his. “What?”

“Don’t worry, Katniss.” Peeta chuckles. “I didn’t poison it or anything. Just added a little cinnamon.”

“Oh. Cinnamon.” She takes another sip and decides the flavors work well together. Still, he should ask her before he just goes and does something like that.

Partway into her cup, they strike up a conversation, and this time, Katniss joins in more.

“So, you’re the manager here,” she says.

“Owner, actually,” Peeta corrects, but not in an arrogant way.

“Aren’t you a little young to own your own business, Peeta Mellark?”

“Well, I am 25, Katniss Everdeen. “And I don’t do it alone.”

“Oh, yeah. You run this place with your father and brothers, right?” she says, recalling the sign outside; although she’s never seen anyone resembling Peeta working here.

“No,” he says, rather sullenly.

“Oh. Sorry. I saw the sign, so I just assumed.” It seems like she’s pried, so she’s prepared to let it go, but Peeta continues.

“It’s okay. It was supposed to be that way,” he says. “You see, my father...he died a few years back, just as we were preparing to open the coffee shop. He...got sick, and would you believe it, all the best medicines in the Capitol couldn’t do a thing for him.”

“Peeta...I’m so sorry.” She can relate, of course. She had no idea Peeta lost his father, too, and only someone who’s experienced that can truly understand.

“Yeah. Thanks.” He shoves his hands into his pockets. “I wanted to open the place anyway, in honor of my father. I was encouraged to name it something related to the Capitol, especially being so close to Snow’s mansion as it is. I know Capitol Coffee isn’t very original, but they were satisfied with that. I had the Capitol logo engraved on the sign, and they let me keep the Mellark & Sons sign up, too.”

Katniss puts on a faint smile. She wants to say she knows how he feels, but she isn’t quite sure how to get the words out, and she hates when people say that sort of thing, anyway, so she just listens as he continues.

“My brothers were supposed to help me out, and they did for a little while, but then they just stopped. They had lives and families and no time for it. So, I hired some outside help. I, uh, hear you met Cinna the other day.”

So, he knew she came in before...damn him.

“Well, Cinna is my partner in the business.”

Katniss simply nods, but she’s curious as to why Cinna gave up his position as Stylist to come co-run a coffee shop. She’s not normally one for gossip or digging for information about other people’s lives, but it’s just so unheard of. She decides to ask Peeta why Cinna left, but all Peeta gives her is the trademark ‘he wanted to pursue other endeavors.’ Does he not know, or is he keeping something?

Katniss shrugs it off, and they fall into a more casual conversation. She feels more at ease talking to him now, especially after his confession about losing his father. It’s a horrible thing to be connected over, but she does feel more connected to him now. Still, she doesn’t give him any information about her family, only tells him about her mangy furball of a cat (it’s actually Prim’s cat, but she’s certainly not going to mention Prim to a total stranger). After that, they stay on safe topics like the weather, food and drink, and hobbies. She finds out he does, indeed, enjoy hot chocolate, but he also likes tea. He takes it without sugar. And he’s a painter.

When she reveals that she hunts, Peeta guffaws and says, “So, that explains the venison.” The corner of her lip tilts. “Which, I’m still waiting for, by the way,” he teases.

Just for that, Peeta Mellark, you’re getting TWO big fat squirrels! She vehemently thinks at him. She plots tossing a rabbit in, too. She’ll fix the meat up real nice for him and only tell him what it is after he puts it in his mouth and chews it up some.

This makes her smile and puts her at ease, but she doesn’t reveal, this time, about her father.

***

Katniss continues to return to the coffee shop almost daily over the course of the next two weeks. She almost always has the hot chocolate, but occasionally she orders a different drink and sometimes a pastry. The cheese buns become her absolute favorite; she gets voracious over them. One time, Peeta gives her a vanilla latte, and he even makes a leaf out of foam in it. She stares down into the mug and smiles, thinking of the forest.

She and Peeta fall into an easy back-and-forth. She usually allows him to do the talking while she occasionally comments or asks a question. There’s some banter between them, which occasionally verges on flirtatious, but she’s growing accustomed to not letting it make her uncomfortable. Instead, she tries to relish the warm, fluttery feeling she gets in her stomach sometimes when he looks at her a certain way or compliments her. And Peeta is good. He’s good at making her feel good. He has just the right balance for making a girl feel special without taking it too far. At least, it must work wonders on most women‒and she wonders about that...does Peeta talk like this with other women? She’s a different story, of course, although, she’s been doing her best to just enjoy the attention she’s getting from a nice, attractive guy.

But eventually, Peeta wants to know something ‘real’ about her. And as soon as he says it, she tenses up. What does he want to know? She feels as though her muscles are almost paralyzed, and her mouth has gone dry.

It’s clear from Peeta’s face that he knows he may have crossed a line, probably because of the way she reacted the first day, but he doesn’t completely back down this time.

“Okay, how about we start out simple?” he says.

“Simple?”

“Yeah. You know, friends tell each other the deep stuff, right?”

Friends? Deep stuff? She keeps her cool. “The deep stuff? Uh oh. Like what?”

“Well, like…” Peeta thinks for a moment. He strokes his chin. “Hey, why don’t we make this interesting?”

Interesting? Oh no. What does that mean?

“Let’s play a little game.” She eyes him warily, and he just smiles.

“I don’t like games,” she protests.

“Oh, come on, it’ll be fun!”

The game is called ‘Real or Not Real,’ and the objective is for them to say things they think they know about the other person or guess at them, and the other person will verify if it’s true (real) or false (not real). Peeta says it’ll be a fun way for them to get to know each other better.

Katniss doesn’t like the sound of it one bit, but Peeta’s so excited to play that she gives in.

He does, indeed, start simple.

“Green is your favorite color. Real or Not Real?” he says.

Katniss nearly laughs. Well, that certainly wasn’t a ‘deep’ question, sounded more like something a five-year-old would ask. But she answers. “Real. But that’s not tough to figure out.”

Peeta snickers. “No, I suppose not.” He glances at her attire, lots of forest green once again.

“Yours is…” She ponders a moment, considering his clothing choices. “Black?”

“Not Real.”

“White?”

“Not Real.”

She goes through almost the entire array of colors only to hear ‘Not Real’ every time. She’s already getting sick of Peeta’s little ‘Get to Know You’ game, but she keeps trying. Finally, she guesses orange, not really thinking it could be right, but she’s nearly out of colors, and it’s either that or pink.

“Real,” he says.

“You’re joking.”

“Not in the slightest. But not bright orange. Muted. Soft, like the sunset.”

Oh, he’s one of those guys…

They continue the game. Peeta’s enjoying it, and for Katniss, it’s tolerable, but she is considering cutting him off, or at least limiting how many questions he can ask her in a single encounter, she allows it.

“Next one.” This time, he leans across the bar. Instinctively, she backs up on her stool when he gets too close for her comfort. He smirks at her. “You like sweet, hot things. Real or Not Real?”

She nearly barks out a laugh at his phrasing, but she holds it in. Is he making a joke? Flirting badly? Or, is he just that cocky to be referring to himself? And if he wasn’t insinuating that, she just thought of him as a ‘sweet, hot thing.’ She cringes inwardly. Oh, of course, he must be referring to her drink of choice.

“Real. You must be a genius,” she jokes. He raises a brow. “The hot chocolate, right?”

“Yeah, that’s what I was referring to.” When he winks at her she wants to crawl into a cave.”

***

They play the Real or Not Real game a little bit each time she stops in. Usually, it’s pretty bland stuff, slowly growing more personal than the first colors question, but one day, he asks a question she’s not sure she wants to answer.

“That necklace you wear was a gift, Real or Not Real?” he asks, his expression more serious than she’s ever seen it. It’s almost as if he knows. Or, perhaps he thinks it’s from a guy.

“...Real,” she says softly after a pause, her eyes shifting to the counter. Her answer is followed by a tense silence, but after a moment, Katniss does something completely uncharacteristic‒she pulls out the necklace and lets him get a good look at it. “It was from my father.”

End of Part I


	2. Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Well, I’m not sure how many people will read this given that “The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes” was just released today, but I hope those of you who do enjoy it! I know it’s been a long time coming. FYI, the time period is the same in this, surrounding the 74th Hunger Games, but I’ve aged Katniss and Peeta about 7 or 8 years. 
> 
> Trigger Warning: Mentions of drugs, alcohol, and sex/prostitution

Peeta looks the necklace over thoroughly before his eyes gravitate back up to her face. “It’s very nice.” 

Katniss nods. “I lost my dad, too,” she mutters, still staring down at the necklace, fingering it. When she looks up, Peeta’s blue eyes seem to shine with sympathy. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he says. 

He doesn’t ask how it happened, but she tells him, anyway, at least as much as was told to her. “He worked in the Nut. It was an accident,” she says, wondering if she sounds believable.

Sullenly, Peeta nods. “I’m so sorry, Katniss.” 

“Yeah. Thanks. I just…it’s...” She huffs. “It’s not fair.” 

“I know,” Peeta replies. “I felt that way, too.” 

Katniss twists her lips into her best smile of appreciation, though she’s sure it comes out weak. If only Peeta knew…but of course, she’s not ready to tell him her theory. She barely knows him. She knows Peeta is trying to be helpful, but the situation isn’t really the same. Peeta’s father got sick, and while that’s terrible, at least he died of natural causes. Her father didn’t have to die. It wasn’t nature’s way. He was murdered. She feels terrible comparing the deaths‒a death is a death, after all. No matter how they went the person is still gone, and the loved ones are left dealing with the aftermath. 

“He used to take me hunting,” she starts. 

“Hence the talk of venison.” He gives her a small smile. 

“Yeah. I go to District 7 to hunt. I use his bow.” Katniss doesn’t know why she’s telling him all this. If it was just a fair trade of information, she could have stopped at her father’s death rather than volunteering more information. That, in itself, is more information than she’s given any who didn’t directly know him themselves. 

“That’s nice,” Peeta says, “being able to do something he did. Carrying on his legacy, in a way.”

His words strike a chord with Katniss. She supposes hunting was kind of her father’s legacy if anything was. That, and protecting the Capitol, of course. 

“You’re doing that, too,” she tells him. 

Peeta’s smile grows warmer but quickly drops off. “Trying to,” he says wryly. “Although, this place isn’t quite what I imagined it would be...” 

She studies him, the twist of his lips, the slight wrinkle in his forehead, the look in his eyes‒there’s something hidden in those blues that seems painfully familiar...it feels like the look she must get when she thinks of her father. Katniss’s lips part to speak, but she presses them tightly together. And she and Peeta swap tentative glances. He must be processing, too, perhaps as uncertain as she about the exchange of so much personal information in such a short period of time. 

“What do you mean, Peeta?” she asks after some time. It seems to her that the place does well enough. Peeta simply tells her to come back at night and she’ll see, and then he offers her a cheese bun. 

***  
She does as he suggests, and the next time Katniss visits the coffee shop, it’s evening. She’s still wondering why Peeta asked her to return at night; he was so cryptic about it. Was it just a ruse to get her here and see her again? He had expressed interest in her returning in the past. As soon as she steps inside, she has her answer… 

The coffee shop is completely transformed, and Katniss nearly walks out, thinking she’s accidentally stumbled into a posh Capitol nightclub. It looks it, after all, so much so that she’s surprised no one stopped her at the entrance to check a list before allowing her inside. The interior of the space is darkened, lit by fluorescent ambient lighting, and music is playing, which she could hear from outside but thought she was imagining. She wasn’t. And it’s certainly not the gentle background music she’s become accustomed to here, but much louder and more upbeat. 

The place is bustling. In some more congested areas, Katniss even has to push her way past crowds of Capitolites who are talking, drinking, laughing, and even dancing‒or, more like drunkenly swaying while sloppily attempting to hold each other up. And another thing, everyone around her seems to be way more dressed up than usual, even...Peeta? At least, she thinks it’s Peeta, but maybe it’s another stocky blond man behind the counter… 

When she ventures closer, there’s no mistaking him, although he looks much different. He’s dressed all in white, in a pristine suit that seems to perfectly complement his blond hair, which, tonight, appears professionally styled. Not that Peeta’s hair doesn’t always look good, but it’s usually...messy-good, not so...coiffed. 

Katniss takes a seat in one of the few open spots at the bar, a couple of seats over from her usual one which is taken. Peeta is busy and hasn’t noticed her yet, so she uses the opportunity to observe him quietly as she would a creature in the forest. He’s turned to the side, and she lets her eyes drift all the way down as far as she can see past the counter. She notices he’s wrapped his apron around his bottom half, over his suit. While it seems an odd thing to do, she imagines it’s functional, and she must admit a rather cute touch. She slides a finger across her lips as she watches him. 

When Peeta turns her direction slightly, she discerns that the most uncomfortable-looking collar (possibly known to man) completes his ensemble. It’s diamond-shaped, the jagged top point pressing against his throat like a dagger. It looks like it was designed by a sociopath; it must jab him whenever he moves. How could Peeta choose to wear such a thing? Definitely more fashion than function. Capitolites do oftentimes choose to look stylish over being comfortable, but Peeta doesn’t seem like that type. It looks to be the work of a stylist‒9 times out of 10 (at least), a stylist will choose what looks good over what’s comfortable‒but, to Katniss’s knowledge, Peeta doesn’t have his own stylist. Then again, there is Cinna... 

Cinna. Peeta’s partner. The brilliant former Games stylist... 

When Katniss first met Cinna, she liked him right away; she could tell he was different from most Capitol citizens. Like Peeta, he seemed down to earth and easy to talk to, and he wasn’t extravagant. He wore sensible clothing like her, a dark shirt and pants, simple although made of fine materials, and just a swipe of gold eyeshadow. 

She finds it hard to believe the collar could have anything to do with Cinna. Not only has he given up on being a stylist, but he would never torture Peeta so. 

That aside, overall, Peeta looks good. Really good. And Katniss feels very underdressed by comparison… 

Finally, Peeta sees her, and he gets a great big smile on his face and waves. The corner of Katniss’s lips tilt slightly as she throws up a static hand. And he heads over. When he’s standing before her, she notes that he still smells as he always does, of cinnamon and dill, but tonight, she also catches a hint of some hair product. It’s coconut and another scent she can’t identify, simultaneously sweet and masculine. So then, in addition to looking nice, he smells nice, too. 

“Hi,” Peeta says, a smile teasing his lips. 

“Hi. Here again?”

“I could say the same of you.” 

“You asked me to come,” she states plainly, folding her arms on the counter. 

“So I did.” His smile broadens.

She taps one arm with a finger. “You work a lot.” 

“Yeah. It’s necessary with such a small staff.” 

Katniss nods, and her eyes flicker over him. “Nice suit.” 

“Thanks.” He glances down, straightening his lapels. 

“Oh, by the way, am I dressed okay?” she asks. Normally, she wouldn’t care, but some places have standards, and Peeta’s been so nice that she doesn’t want to offend him. 

Peeta grins. “Of course. Why?” 

She hopes he doesn’t think she’s fishing for a compliment. “Well, it’s just…,” she adjusts her hood around her neck, “it seems more formal here this evening…” She almost wonders if it’s some kind of special event. 

“I don’t enforce any kind of dress code here, Katniss.” He gives her a quick scan and another smile‒he hands them out like candies. “Besides, as usual, you look perfect...” It seems the ‘p’ word has slipped off his tongue without him realizing because he swallows before smoothly finishing, “To me.” 

“Perfect?” she scoffs. “I don’t know about that,” she mutters, glancing away. 

There’s a brief silence, then Peeta clears his throat and picks the conversation back up. “I, uh, dress up in the evenings,” he explains. “And Portia did my hair,” he adds when he notices Katniss’s eyes settling there. Katniss frowns. 

Peeta chuckles. “She does that sometimes. Guess you can’t take the stylist out completely.” 

Katniss gives him a halfhearted smile. For some reason, the idea of the gorgeous Portia running her fingers through Peeta’s silky golden curls unnerves her a little. Maybe it was she who put him in that ridiculous suit. But what would she be doing dressing him...? 

“What?” Peeta asks, smirking. “Don’t you like it?” He runs a hand through his slicked hair, and it bounces right back into position. 

Katniss shakes her head. “It’s not that. Just...adjusting to it."

“That’s right. You’re a creature of habit, aren’t you, Katniss?” He obviously thinks this because of her drink orders. “And speaking of habit, will you have your usual, or are you feeling adventurous today, Miss Everdeen?” 

“Adventurous?” She nibbles on her lower lip. “Uh, what did you have in mind?” 

Peeta just smiles and says, “I’ll be right back.” 

“Wait, Peeta,” she calls out, holding up a hand. He turns to look back. “What are you going to bring me?” 

“You’ll see.” She thinks he winks at her, though it’s tough to tell in the lighting. 

When Peeta returns, he brings a tall glass filled with a bright yellow liquid and sets it before her. 

“What’s this?” she immediately asks. She’d never put something past her lips that she didn’t know what it was. “Is it alcohol?” She’s never touched the stuff, but she sniffs it, anyway. She doesn’t catch a hint of that strong, unmistakable scent some of her mother’s medications had, which is what she imagines alcohol smells like. 

Peeta laughs. “Don’t worry, Katniss. I wouldn’t spike your drink without telling you. I’m not trying to get you drunk.” 

“Okay.” At his word, she brings the glass to her lips and takes a cautious sip. It’s sweet, but not like the hot chocolate; it has more of a citrusy taste. It’s good, so she takes another larger gulp. And another. 

Meanwhile, Peeta leans against the counter, watching her drink in amusement. He finds it cute how she always begins eating and drinking (especially new things) so tentatively, as if she’s a wild creature being offered a handout from a stranger, but once she discovers she likes something, she becomes unquenchable. 

“It’s mostly fruit juices,” he tells her. “A few different kinds. Kind of a non-alcoholic cocktail, you might say. I call it a…,” he hesitates, “a dandelion.” 

“Dandelion?” Her eyes shoot straight up to his. 

“Yes,” Peeta affirms, smiling almost shyly. 

“Does it have dandelions…?” she begins. 

“No. Not real dandelions. I just call it that because the yellow color reminds me of them.” 

Katniss nods, though honestly, she’s surprised Peeta’s ever heard of one. They don’t exactly make fine Capitol floral arrangements. Her eyes drop to the liquid, and as she stares into the swirling yellow void, she drifts back to simpler, happy times in the woods with her father. 

After a bit, she begins to wonder again about the decor of the coffee shop. She decides to ask. “So, Peeta, why the dandelions everywhere? Drawn on the specials board. And the lights, they’re shaped like dandelions, right? Now this drink.” 

“Ah, well...,” Peeta rubs the back of his neck. “Just...a...a fond memory from my childhood.” 

Katniss doesn’t ask further questions, and Peeta goes on to tell her about Mellark’s Capitol Coffee and its nightly transformation.

“So, like I was telling you…this...,” he motions around, “isn’t really what I hoped the place would be.” 

“No?” she asks just before drinking up the last of her dandelion. He shakes his head. “It seems successful from what I can see.” 

“Oh, that’s not really the issue.” 

“Then what?” 

He shrugs his broad shoulders. “I don’t know. It’s...just not what I imagined it to be. I mean look around…” 

Katniss does, and her eyes settle on a couple vigorously kissing in a corner. 

Turning back to him, “What did you imagine, Peeta?” she asks. 

“Well, I’m glad you asked, Katniss.” He smiles so wide she imagines it must hurt his face. It would certainly hurt hers; scowling, or at least keeping a neutral expression is much less effort. 

“I kind of envisioned something like a pâtisserie,” Peeta says, the French rolling flawlessly off his tongue in a strangely appealing way. He even uses an accent, and Katniss is impressed. “What I really wanted was to start a bakery, but there’s already a large chain around here, so I didn’t think it would do well.” 

“You’re a baker?” 

Peeta smiles. “Who did you think makes those cheese buns and pastries you're so fond of? From scratch.” 

Well, she hadn’t thought him. She doesn’t know why; she just supposed he was the face of the coffee shop and had workers back there that she hadn’t met. She tries to imagine him up to his elbows in flour, and it puts a smirk on her face. 

“Speaking of which…” Peeta holds up a finger then heads back into the kitchen. He returns not long after with a plate of two cheese buns and another glass of dandelion. 

“That wasn’t nec‒,” Katniss begins, but knowing it’s no use, she smiles and accepts it. She does, however, reach into her purse to pull out a tip for Peeta. When she slides it toward him, he places his hand over the money and hers. Katniss’s breath catches at his touch. 

“I wouldn’t hear of it. You’re my best customer.” 

Katniss’s eyes shoot briefly to the counter, her cheeks warming. “How can I be your best customer if you keep giving me free stuff?” she says, pinning him with her eyes. His cheeks are a bit rosy, too. 

“Well, uh…” She smirks at his sudden lack of speech. “Because you’re a regular, and that’s what keeps us going,” he recovers nicely. “Besides, you don’t tip the proprietor of an establishment, Katniss,” he adds, giving her a wink. 

Katniss doesn’t know whether he made up that rule or not, considering she’s not as versed in etiquette as say, someone like Effie Trinket, but she goes with it. Arguing with Peeta, after all, is as fruitless as arguing with a brick wall. Shaking her head slightly, she takes a bite of the cheese bun. It’s hot and fresh out of the oven, extra cheesy, too, and she wonders if he added some extra cheese today. 

While Katniss eats and drinks, she listens to Peeta talk more about his beloved place. 

“By day, the place is a closer approximation of what I wanted it to be,” he goes on to say, “but at night, it turns into...well, this. It becomes a hotspot. Mostly on weekends, but then there are plenty of Capitolites who either don’t work or go out partying on work nights anyway, so the place is rarely dead. Sometimes I feel like I run a nightclub instead of a coffee shop.” 

She’d thought the same. “It’s certainly different,” Katniss agrees, her gaze falling on that couple again. They’ve begun pawing at each other like animals in addition to kissing. Her cheeks heat up yet again, and she looks away a moment before back to Peeta. 

“Most importantly, I wanted a homey, family type of place,” he’s saying. “But of course, that didn’t work out.” 

Katniss feels for him, truly. 

“All this...this isn’t really my doing, you know. The patrons have kind of taken it upon themselves to change the atmosphere at night.” His mouth twists. “I suppose Cinna had a hand in it, too.” 

Speaking of Cinna, Katniss hasn’t seen him tonight. She scans the room, assuming he’s out somewhere amongst the crowd. She finally spots him off in a corner, talking with a larger man in a fine suit and a couple of other particularly well-dressed patrons. Rather than being light and frivolous as most others are, their conversation appears heavy and serious. 

She returns her attention to Peeta. 

“The music, the alcohol, even my sudden...sense of style…” Peeta chuckles at that, although Katniss has always considered Peeta to be stylish, at least more so than her. “All Cinna’s ideas.” 

So, Cinna did put him in the suit. Why would he do that? she wonders. Judging by the few times she’s witnessed, the two work so well together, and Cinna doesn’t seem like one to try and control his partner. But then again, she doesn’t really know him. 

“Well, if you’re so unhappy about it, why don’t you talk to him?” is Katniss’s practical suggestion. “It’s your place mainly, right?” 

“Yes, but we sort of have an agreement. I manage things during the day, and he does at night.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t discuss it with him.” 

“Yeah…I could...” Peeta scratches behind his ear. “But I trust Cinna, I do. He knows what he’s doing, what’s best for the business. I mean, look,” he motions again. “He’s brought so many patrons in.” 

Although it may be good for business, Katniss has decided she doesn’t like it here at night. It’s way too crowded and too loud; she can barely hear Peeta, and the whole atmosphere is giving her a tightness in her gut and a suffocating feeling as if she’s trapped in a box and slowly losing oxygen. She wishes Peeta hadn’t invited her here, yet she can’t seem to force herself out of the chair. 

“It’s not like Cinna didn’t consult with me about the changes,” Peeta continues. “He proposed the ideas to me, and I-I went along with them.” He shrugs. “He did make some strong points, so I guess I should just deal with it.” 

“What points?” 

“Well, in addition to drumming up general business, I think he wants to get the attention of some...important people.” 

“Important people? Like who?” Katniss clutches her half-empty glass and leans in slightly. She’s not normally the type to engage in gossip or really even care about other people’s business at all, but somehow, Peeta has her on the edge of her seat. 

“For one, wealthy Capitolites who’ll think nothing of dropping a small fortune on alcohol and hors d'oeuvres,” Peeta says with a wry grin. 

Just then, Portia passes by wearing a fuschia, skin-tight/mermaid style, sequined dress and carrying a tray of lavish-looking morsels. Peeta beckons her, and she holds the tray out to Katniss. 

“You make hors d'oeuvres, too?” Katniss asks, taking one. “I didn’t know you could do any...fancy cooking.” She has to admit, she’s impressed. 

“There are a lot of things you don’t know about me, Katniss.” 

That’s certainly true. Up until tonight she didn’t even know he did the baking around here. 

“I’ll bet,” she says sardonically. Right away, she realizes how that must have sounded. The comment was just her sarcastic‒bad‒personality coming out, but she hopes she hasn’t upset Peeta. Her eyes tentatively flit to him; he only seems amused. “Barista. Painter. Baker,” she nonchalantly rattles off the list. “And now a gourmet cook. Any other hidden talents?” 

“You’ll just have to wait and see.” The wink he gives her causes her stomach to do a little flip. She hates when he does that, and when he smiles at her like he’s doing now, like she’s something special when she knows she isn’t. Ignoring him, she pops the hors d’oeuvre into her mouth and slowly chews. It’s rich and creamy as much Capitol food is. 

“Well?”

She finishes chewing. “It’s good,” she says, licking the last bit of cream off her lips. She glances away when she notices Peeta staring, seemingly entranced by her action. Had she been seductive about it or something? She hadn’t realized she was even capable. “Um. Yeah, it’s good, but‒,” she chances to look at him again. 

“But you’d still rather have a cheese bun,” Peeta finishes for her, a broad grin crossing his face.

“Uh, yeah, actually.” 

“I figured.” He’s doing that thing again where he keeps smiling at her like he can’t stop. 

“Because I’m a creature of habit, right?” she says, fiddling with her fingers. 

“Right. That, and you really love them.”

Raising her eyes, Katniss smiles a little. “And that’s a bad thing?” 

“Loving cheese buns?” 

“No,” she shakes her head at him, “being a creature of habit.” 

He presses his lips together. “Not at all. But...maybe it wouldn’t hurt to broaden your horizons a little, Katniss. There’s a lot to see and do in this world.” 

There is. And being born into privilege as she has been, she has the world at her fingertips. Of course, if she told Peeta where she really wants to go and what she really wants to do the most, he’d laugh in her face. Most Capitolites would, for what citizen in her right mind would want to leave the Capitol where one has everything at their feet in favor of a country cottage surrounded by nature. 

“How do you know how much I’ve seen, Peeta?” she snips, unintentionally harsh. Peeta’s not fazed, though. 

“I don’t. But a person can always see more, Katniss,” he says. 

“What if she doesn’t want to?” 

“That’s fine, then.” 

She doesn’t know why she’s being argumentative because really, he’s right; there is much more she wants to see… It just...hits too close to home, she supposes‒that dream died along with her father...at least, she thought it had. 

Deciding to change the subject, Katniss gently clears her throat. “So, uh, who else does Cinna hope to attract to the coffee shop?” She’s surprised herself; she never talks this much. It’s Peeta’s doing, surely. Not only is he smooth with words, but apparently, he can coax speech out of others. 

“Well…,” Peeta begins.

It’s then that they’re interrupted by a shrill female cackle. They both turn to see a middle-aged woman, slightly toasted from the looks of it, wearing a huge headdress and covered in jewels. Katniss and Peeta watch her stumble over to the bar a few seats down from them, and then she beckons Peeta by curling a long, pointy finger. 

“Friend of yours?” Katniss asks, sounding more disgruntled than she intended. It’s just a bit unnerving to see the woman leering at Peeta that way.

“Uh, no,” he says. “But I have seen her in here a few times. I’ll be right back.” Peeta heads over to take her order. 

“What’ll it be, ma’am?” she hears Peeta ask in that sweet tone of his. 

Although she’s close enough to hear everything, Katniss tries to ignore the interchange. She takes a drink from her cup, but then, out of the corner of her eye, she catches the woman leaning over. She reaches out to pinch Peeta’s bicep. 

“Hmm...how much for you, honey?” Katniss hears the woman slur, and she nearly chokes on the liquid in her mouth. Okay, so she’s more than slightly toasted; she’s completely wasted. 

Suddenly, Katniss has an almost sick feeling that could be jealousy, but she dismisses it, assuring herself that Peeta would never go home with some random older patron who wants to purchase him. And of course, he’s too good to take advantage of an inebriated woman. Right? 

She keeps listening. 

“Oh.” Peeta chuckles good-naturedly, though he’s clearly caught off guard. “I’m not for sale, ma’am,” he tells her directly. 

Good boy, Katniss thinks, finding her mental response rather odd. After all, why should she care what Peeta does? He’s not her guy, and this is the Capitol. What’s a little prostitution? At least they’re both adults, which isn’t always the case… 

“But how about one of our famous pastries?” Peeta deflects. He must be looking out for her, thinking eating something will help soak up the substantial amount of alcohol she must have ingested. 

Yet the woman persists. “Not for sale?” she exclaims in her high-pitched, alcohol-saturated affected accent that’s like nails on a chalkboard to Katniss. “Everything’s for sale if you have enough money.” And apparently, everyone, too, according to her. Katniss discreetly watches the woman lean in to get a better look at Peeta. She flattens her palms and runs both hands up and down Peeta’s lapels. “Weren’t you the Victor a few years back, honey?” 

Katniss isn’t thrilled with the fact that she’s touching him, but it is rather ridiculous. She thinks Peeta is a Victor? Either this woman is extremely misinformed‒perhaps she doesn’t even watch The Hunger Games–or she’s so incredibly drunk that Peeta has morphed into a former Victor to her. Maybe next he’ll become a mutt, and she’ll run out screaming. Whatever the case, it’s a little sad; although she’s sure Peeta will let her down easy. Katniss rolls her eyes. 

“No, ma’am. I’m afraid you’re mistaken,” Peeta says, still polite as can be. “But seriously, you should try one of our pastries. They’re the best around, loved Capitol-wide. A pastry and a cup of strong, black coffee can’t be beat.” 

The woman groans loudly and slumps over the counter. Apparently, she’s not hungry for food right now. But Peeta is an excellent salesman and manages to tempt her with something aside from his body‒his amazing selection of sweets. She finally chooses one and he retrieves it for her, along with the coffee, but then, to Katniss’s disgust, she opens her blue-lined lips as if expecting Peeta to feed her. 

Oh, God. Katniss cringes. He’s not really going to…, is he? How’s Peeta going to get out of this one? 

She expected him to be more creative about getting out of it, but it works, nonetheless, when Peeta feigns being beckoned by someone. He calls out “Be right there,” pushes the plate with the pastry on it toward the woman, and darts off. 

Katniss places a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing when Peeta comes over. She’s softened, however, by the look of embarrassment on his face. 

“So, how often does that happen?” Katniss deadpans. 

“Never.” He rubs the back of his neck. “That’s never happened before.” 

“Well, at least she thought you looked like a Victor,” Katniss states plainly. “I guess that’s a compliment.” Although certainly not every Victor is attractive, many of them have some kind of appeal. 

“Yeah. I guess so…,” he says, uncertain. 

“Not that she could see straight,” Katniss quips. 

“Probably not.” Peeta grins. But I wonder which one she thinks I look like?” He taps his chin, considering it a moment. “Maybe...Gloss?” 

“No,” Katniss responds immediately. “You look nothing like Gloss.” 

Peeta raises a brow. “I’m even more handsome, right?” And grinning, he leans forward. 

Katniss is onto Peeta’s game. He’s not being arrogant; he just wants to get her to compliment him. But she’s not going to do it. Her first thought is to say something outright insulting, not because she doesn’t find Peeta attractive‒that’s definitely not it‒but because, she supposes, she doesn’t want him to know just how attractive she does find him, and also, negativity comes easier to her than sincerity. 

Thankfully, Peeta digresses. “So, you were asking about important people, right? Well, as our lovely intoxicated friend mentioned, there are the Victors…” 

“The Victors come in?” Katniss asks, incredulous. She’s not one of those Capitolites who gets starstricken over whoever the Victor for the year is, but it’s curious. 

“Yes, we’ve had a handful of Victors in here,” Peeta says. 

On second thought, it’s not really so far-fetched. Some of the more desirable Victors are frequent visitors to the Capitol, and since they’re mentors, there’s always an abundance of them around during the ceremonies leading up to the Games. It’s only natural they’d have someplace to hang out, too.

Peeta goes on to mention the Victors he’s encountered, including Johanna Mason, District 7, Victor of the 71st Hunger Games. 

Katniss remembers her. She was the one who acted like a weakling in order to fool her competitors and only much later, when the numbers had substantially dwindled, revealed how skilled and vicious she actually was. 

“Johanna Mason is…interesting...” Peeta raises his blue eyes skyward then proceeds to tell Katniss the story of approaching her to warn her about keeping her clothes on in his establishment…

***  
Johanna Mason gives him a long look up and down and shrugs. “It’s hot in here. What’s it to you, Blondie?” 

“Well, it’s my place,” he speaks politely but firmly while doing his best to keep his eyes only on the face of the half-naked woman, “and it’s a public restaurant…” 

He begins to suggest he could adjust the temperature setting, but she cuts him off. 

“So? It’s the Capitol, isn’t it?” she argues. “And the Capitol’s all about luxury and pleasures and debauchery and shit, right?”

“Well, that’s…” 

Johanna scoffs. “What’s the big deal? I don’t hear no one complainin’. And it’s not like I’m totally naked. You a prude, Blondie? Gay?” 

“No. No,” Peeta asserts. “But this is a classy place, Miss Mason...” He can tell right away what Johanna thinks of that, and she makes her discontent known by laughing in his face and flipping him off before defiantly moving to another table and turning her back on him. She keeps her clothes on, though. 

***  
Katniss’s mouth forms a tiny ‘o’ in response to Peeta’s tale, and then, the corner of her lips tilt slightly. It was amusing, but Katniss is glad she missed it. 

“I’d add ‘spirited’ and ‘sassy’ to Johanna Mason’s list of descriptors,” Peeta says. Katniss laughs a little at that. 

“Oh, and when he’s in the Capitol, Finnick Odair is a regular here.” 

“Finnick Odair? From District 4?” 

Katniss remembers him, too. The youngest Victor of the Hunger Games, the bronze-haired sea god with eyes to match his watery world, master of the trident. He’s handsome and his sexual prowess is rumored to rival his combat skills‒it’s always a toss-up whether he’s a better fighter or lover. Speaking of the latter, Katniss doesn’t know how many women he’s bedded at his young age (barely older than her), but she’s sure there’s throngs because he’s as good as gold here in the Capitol. 

“Yeah. He comes in probably two-three times a week when he’s around,” Peeta says, “usually with a woman or two on his arm. And if he’s alone, more often than not, he finds a companion to leave with.” 

Katniss nods. 

“Then, of course, there’s Snow…,” Peeta goes on. 

Katniss’s eyes widen a tick, and her lips part. “What about President Snow? You’ve met him?” 

“Sort of, yeah. He’s been in here several times.” 

Katniss hasn’t seen President Snow in person, herself. When her father was killed at the Nut, she thought Snow might have shown up to pay tribute to all her father’s years of loyal service, but he only sent one of his officials to present them with a commemorative plaque. 

“Doesn’t come in often, though,” Peeta tells her. “He usually sends someone to pick up his order. But he does occasionally stop in for a drink and an appetizer. With his guards, of course. Oh, and he always has his food and drink tested before he takes even a single sip or bite.” 

“Well, that makes sense,” Katniss says. “He’s clever to do so.” Because surely, a president such as Snow would have enemies‒a man doesn’t stay in power for so long by being stupid enough to trust just anyone who comes along. 

The woman returns, interrupting them again. “So, if you’re not going to take care of my needs, honey, then can you direct me to someone who will?” she says to Peeta. 

“Oh. Um...” He scans around then points. The woman turns her head to follow his finger, staggering a little as she does, and Peeta reaches out to steady her. Probably a mistake. The woman doesn’t try to jump him, though, and Katniss is surprisingly relieved. “There seems to be a group of handsome men over there,” he tells her. “Why don’t you head over and mingle a little, strike up a conversation.”

The woman turns back to him, her thin blue lips curling up. She reaches out to grab a hunk of the flesh of his cheek. “Thanks, honey,” she slurs. She gives his cheek a pinch before heading off in the direction of the group of men. 

Peeta turns sheepishly back to Katniss; she has a baleful expression on. 

“Peeta, do you run a...a prostitution ring?!” she exclaims, her face flushed. 

“No!” Peeta shakes his head vigorously. “I-!” He holds up his hand in a conciliatory fashion. “That...that just happens sometimes…” 

“I thought you said it never had.” Katniss eyes him suspiciously. 

“Well, I mean,” he adjusts his collar, “never to me. But a lot of people hang out here at night, Katniss, and that sort of thing…is bound to happen.” 

She understands. This is the Capitol, and casual sexual encounters are as commonplace as going out for a fancy dinner. She just thought Peeta’s place might have been different…

“I don’t condone it, Katniss,” Peeta begins. She shivers slightly when he touches her shoulder. “This is a prime example of what I meant, about the place turning out different than I thought.” 

She listens as he goes on. “Sometimes I just feel like…I don’t know...” He pauses, searching for the right word. “A pawn. Like some kind of pawn in a game.” 

That’s a bit strong. “What do you mean?” 

Peeta shrugs. “I don’t know. Did you ever get a feeling...like a storm’s brewing...like something’s about to happen, but you’re completely in the dark?” He stares out across what’s become a makeshift dance floor. “That maybe something big’s going on, and you’re part of it, but a very small, expendable part?” 

She has no idea what Peeta’s talking about; he’s being cryptic again, speaking nonsense, and she tells him so. He simply stares into her eyes. 

“What are you saying, Peeta?” Katniss prods. She gasps when he takes hold of her arm and tugs. 

Only protesting a second, she goes along willingly, allowing Peeta to drag her off to the side into a dark, quiet corner. Here, she can barely make out the outline of his facial features, but she can sense him inching closer. She catches his eyes briefly dropping to her lips when a strobe flashes across his face. 

There’s no real reason for it, but she suspects he might kiss her. Maybe because he’s so close right now...or maybe because they’ve been flirting a little; at least, she thinks that’s what they’ve been doing all this time, but she’s far from an expert. She’s not sure how she feels about the idea of Peeta kissing her, but she doesn’t move away. 

There’s no need to decide how she feels, though, because he only leans in, lowering his voice to just above a whisper, “You wouldn’t believe some of the things that go on here…” 

“What sort of things?” she whispers back, her curiosity piqued. 

“I can confide in you, right, Katniss?” he asks, those blue eyes, darker and dilated in the lighting, piercing through her. 

“Yes,” she says. 

Alright, what has she gotten herself into? What is he about to confide in her? 

. . . 

Peeta tells her of the ‘deals’ that go on here, the exchanges of goods and favors, the secret rendezvous, and the whisperings… Although she can imagine, she asks about the kind of deals, and Peeta explains that there are all kinds, from exchanges of jewelry or substances to alter the mind and body, those meant for euphoria or function to sexual favors and the direct selling of human beings for either sex or labor. He tells her that Cinna and he put a stop to any illegal transactions, but then, not much is illegal around here‒the Capitol is a place of comfort and privilege and pleasure. 

Peeta pulls back to study Katniss’s face, and she’s sure it’s impassive. 

Honestly, not much of this surprises Katniss. She knows the kinds of things that happen in the Capitol. Does Peeta think she’s too pure to understand? Did he really think she’d be shocked by what he’s told her? She supposes she did react kind of strongly when she thought he permitted or even encouraged prostitution here. 

She’s not sure what to say to him. She can tell Peeta doesn’t like what happens in his place of business, but what could he do about it, really? He could ask people to leave, and they’d just go somewhere else to ‘conduct their business,’ that’s about it. It’s not like he can stop it from happening, altogether. Who knew Peeta had such high moral values? 

“That happens everywhere,” Katniss says, deciding on honesty. 

Peeta thins his lips. “Yeah. I guess so. But there’s more, Katniss…” 

They’re interrupted yet again, this time by that passionate pair Katniss was watching earlier. They’re undoubtedly heading off to be alone when the giggling female bumps into Katniss, knocking her forward. Peeta wraps his arms around Katniss’s waist to catch her, and her hands end up flat against his chest. 

“Sorry,” the female mutters as she clasps the man’s hand and drags him off elsewhere. 

Katniss stares up into Peeta’s eyes. His head’s tilted, his lips parted slightly in surprise. There’s a look in his eyes she can’t quite place; she’s never been looked upon in quite this way; it feels somewhere in between attraction and adoration. His fingers curl at her waist, pressing in ever so slightly. A chill runs through her, and she’s cold and hot all at once, ready to completely unravel. This is all happening too fast; she should pull away, but… 

Peeta sucks in his bottom lip then takes a breath. “Katniss, I‒there’s something I want to…,” he starts, still holding onto her. 

Whatever he has to say, she doesn’t want to hear it. It’s all just too much. She shouldn’t be here in this place, in the arms of a stranger. She works up the motivation to yank herself away, and she puts some distance between them.

“Katniss, I...I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…” 

“It’s okay,” she says, holding a hand up to prevent him from either saying something or coming closer. “But, it’s getting late...I have to go.” Before he can say a word, she spins around and is gone. 

***  
Katniss races home, her heart beating through her chest the entire way. She calms down a little by the time she makes it inside her high-rise apartment just off the main avenue of the Capitol, and she gets it together fully as she takes the elevator to the top floor, to the penthouse, where she resides with her family. 

When she steps through the door, the place is darkened. The crystal chandelier is off, the area being lit only by moonlight coming in through the tall, glass windows and a single lamp on the table beside the snow-white, semicircular couch. Her mother isn’t around; she’s surely in bed by now as it’s nearly midnight, but from across the room, she can see that Primrose has fallen asleep on the couch, probably waiting up for her to get home. 

Katniss goes over. She removes the book from Prim’s chest and places it on the end table; then she kneels on the carpet and leans over her. Brushing aside her long, golden hair, she places a soft kiss on her forehead. “Little Duck. Wake up, Little Duck,” she speaks softly. 

It’s an old nickname‒one day when Prim was very small, she’d dressed up in their mother’s clothing. Naturally, they were way too big, and when she’d tucked in the shirt, the back stuck out like a duck tail, so Katniss took to calling her ‘Little Duck.’ At 19, Prim is a woman now, but to Katniss, she’ll always be her Little Duck. 

Katniss gives her Little Duck a soft shake. “Mmm…” Prim stirs and opens her blue eyes. “Oh, hi.” 

“Hi.” Katniss smiles. “Why don’t you go to your bed? You’ll be much more comfortable.” 

“Okay,” Prim mutters drowsily, and Katniss helps her to stand on her sleep-weakened legs. She still can’t believe she’s nearly her height now. 

Prim straightens her nightdress and rubs the sleep from her eyes. “How was your night?” she asks. 

“Fine,” Katniss replies. That is, if ‘fine’ means nearly kissing a guy she might (probably) likes, then running off on him like a child when he’s about to say something possibly important to her. 

Prim seems to be waiting to see if she’ll say more; she’s always been attuned to her, and she does tell Prim more than anyone else. Except, now there’s Peeta… Of course, she can’t talk to Peeta about Peeta, and she’s not ready to tell Prim about him, either, so she simply tucks back Prim’s hair and says, “Goodnight, Little Duck.” 

“Goodnight, Katniss.” 

***  
After her embarrassment, Katniss doesn’t return to the coffee shop for a few days. She’s gotten into this terrible habit of running from Peeta like a frightened fawn in the forest. She doesn’t know what’s the matter with her, but she’s decided it needs to stop.

The next time she goes, Peeta is dressed casually, this time, in earth tones, browns and tans, and likewise, he is casual with her. He doesn’t attempt to reveal any more coffee shop secrets, nor does he touch her. He’s friendly, but he keeps the flirting to a minimum. In fact, he doesn’t say anything that makes her feel remotely different from any other customer in the place, aside from his initial remarks…

When she first arrived, Peeta automatically brought her hot chocolate and her favorite accompanying sweet pastry. “I, uh, saw you coming,” he told her sheepishly. And then, more confidently, he added, “I know what you like.” 

She hesitates, staring down at the drink and pastry. 

“Uh, I’m sorry to assume. Would you like something else?” 

“No,” she shakes her head, “this is perfect.” Perfect? Had she actually just used the word ‘perfect’ with him? It takes her back to a few nights ago when he said she looked ‘perfect…’ 

“Good,” he says, uncertainly. He’s beginning to tell her to enjoy when she cuts him off. 

“And what about you, Peeta? What do you like?”

Peeta seems surprised. Possibly because of what happened the other day or maybe it’s because they haven’t played the ‘Real/Not Real’ game in a while, and she’s not normally the one to initiate the exchange of information when they do. 

Blue eyes meet silver a moment, and a slow smile creeps up on Peeta’s face. “You aren’t playing the game correctly, Katniss.” He wags a finger. 

Katniss rolls her eyes. Speaking of which… 

“Fine. You like coffee. Real or Not Real?” 

“Not Real. I prefer tea,” he tells her. 

“You take sugar in it. Real or Not Real?” 

“Not Real. No sugar.” 

Damn. Maybe one of these days she’ll get one right. 

Her eyes drop away, and she glances down at her feet, being reminded of what she’d carried in. Oh, right. 

“Oh, Peeta?” 

“Yeah?” 

“It’s not tea, but I brought you something,” she says, lifting the canvas sack with both hands and plunking it down on the counter. 

“What’s this?” Peeta asks. 

“The meat I promised. You seemed to want it so badly, so I made a point to go hunting this morning.” She smirks. Truth of the matter is, she was feeling she needed to make amends for yet again being so rude to him, so she’d left at first light, snuck into District 7, despite the increased Peacekeeper volume for the upcoming Hunger Games, and bagged him some fresh game. She doesn’t know if he’s going to like what she brought, and the whole thing did start out as a joke, but she really wants him to experience it.

“Don’t worry, they’re not bloody corpses. Just packages of meat. I skinned and cleaned them for you."

“Them?” Peeta’s mouth drops open, but she can see the relief in his face over not having a bag of mangled animal carcasses thrown onto his nice, clean counter; although he’s probably going to have to wipe that counter down, anyway, because her bag wasn’t the cleanest. “Wow. Um. You really...shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble.”

She wants to laugh. Peeta, ever the kind, polite one, doesn’t want to hurt her feelings, but it’s obvious he’s dreading tasting the meat. “Oh, it was no trouble at all.” She attempts a genuine smile, but she’s sure it comes out devious. “Call it payment for all those free cheese buns and pastries.” 

And then there’s that. This isn’t meant to torment him, though Peeta might think so. She really does feel the need to repay him in some way for all the free goodies, and she didn’t know another way. 

Peeta wets his lips. “Well, great. Thanks. Deer, huh?” 

She senses his hesitation as he reaches out for the bag. 

“Yes. Oh, I also threw in a rabbit and a tree rat.” 

“Tree rat?” Peeta’s face contorts into an expression that’s part-cringe, part-bewilderment. 

“Yeah.” She cocks her head slightly to the side studying him. “Not much meat, but they’re tasty enough.” 

Peeta’s trying so hard to hide his horror, but today, his typically great poker face is completely failing him. “Uh, okay. Thanks...thanks again.” 

“You’re welcome.” She pushes the heavy bag–which she had to drag part of the way here but made sure to brush off before bringing it inside‒toward him, and he hefts it over his shoulder like it’s nothing. 

After a couple of steps toward the kitchen, he turns back. “Oh, uh, which one is which? Are they labeled or anything?” 

She smirks at him. 

“You’re not telling, huh?” 

Katniss shakes her head slowly from side to side. “No, but I’ve numbered them. Just tell me which you like best.” 

Peeta nods. “Alright. I’ll just...go freeze this.” 

“Now, don’t forget to try it,” she jabs a finger at him. A tiny smile spreads across her face as she adds, more sincerely, “I really want you to try it. I think you’ll like it.” 

He smiles warmly back at her. “Okay, Katniss. I promise to try it.” And then, he does something strange...he holds three fingers up in a kind of salute… She feels like she’s seen this gesture before, but she’s not sure where.

“What’s that?” she asks, looking at his hand.

“I’m just giving you my word, Katniss.” 

***  
Going to Mellark’s has become part of Katniss’s day now. She always has something to drink and eats either a cheese bun or some other pastry or two, and sometimes, she even has a small lunch there. One time she teased Peeta that she was going to gain a ton of weight, and he only reassured her that it wouldn’t matter to him even if she did. She’s learned to accept Peeta’s remarks and compliments, no longer getting as embarrassed by them, though she usually pretends to ignore them altogether. 

Katniss still hasn’t told her mother or even Prim about Peeta Mellark. They know she goes to the coffee shop, but they don’t know why she goes so often. And she’s too embarrassed to admit it. She’s started bringing sweets and cheese buns home, though, mainly for Prim, and those seem to satisfy and negate any need for explanation‒Peeta’s baked goods speak for themselves, and they’re loud and clear and delicious. 

Still, she’s been careful not to mention the guy who made them for her, nor that he often throws in freebies when she’s not looking… Speaking of which, after a few times of arguing with him about that, Katniss gave up, knowing Peeta’s never going to change and that he even seems to get some kind of sadistic glee out of ticking her off sometimes. 

Katniss shakes her head. She can’t seem to stay angry at him for long, even with as infuriating as he can be. One dimpled smile or flash of innocence in his blue puppy eyes and she’s a goner… 

That being said, she doesn’t know exactly how she feels about Peeta. She could talk to Prim about her feelings, but no, it’s not the time to speak up about him. Not when there’s nothing really to tell. If this‒whatever it is‒continues, she’ll surely mention him one day, and when she does, she expects Prim will ask all sorts of questions like: ‘Is he cute?’ and ‘Do you like him?’‒questions she doesn’t want to answer and isn’t even sure she has an answer to yet… 

Okay, so, yes, she’s long since decided that Peeta is cute, and as far as liking him goes, well, she doesn’t even know if he likes her. When a guy talks to you and smiles at you a lot and gives you goodies, does it mean he likes you? She feels stupid for not knowing, especially at her age, but it’s not like she’s had much (or any) experience with this sort of thing. And Peeta is, well, different than most guys. Katniss sighs. She might be a lost cause when it comes to dating and romance, but her gut doesn’t often lie to her. And her gut seems to be telling her that the odds are definitely in favor of her liking him, and there’s a strong possibility that he likes her, too…

***  
And so, Katniss continues to go to the coffee shop. And she and Peeta fall into a comfortable rhythm. She drinks and eats. They talk. And when it’s slow, Peeta sketches in a notebook. Sometimes he shows her his drawings, other times, he’s careful not to let her catch a peek. It doesn’t bother her, though. She understands the need for privacy more than most.

The sketches Peeta has shown her, though, are amazing. They’re usually of nature, which she can appreciate, or of items around the coffee shop. Occasionally, he draws a person. He’s done a portrait of Cinna, Portia, and a few of the coffee shop’s more memorable patrons. 

It’s nice that Peeta’s creative, thinks Katniss. Around here, the only people who really get the opportunity to be creative are stylists and Gamemakers, and then of course, there’s personal fashion, those who dye their skin and hair various hues or have plastic surgery and who seek out the most outlandish hairstyles and clothing choices. It’s become so commonplace in the Capitol that, although it might shock visitors from the districts, it never phases Katniss, no matter what she might see. 

It’s been nearly a week since she brought him the venison, and presently, Katniss is seated at the counter finishing off a fluffy cream-filled croissant that Peeta whipped up. And Peeta is sketching again. She glances over to see him intently focused upon his latest creation, whatever it might be. 

“Someday, I’d like to pursue my art a little more,” he speaks up out of the blue, his hand still flying across the page. “Not that I’d ever make it as an artist, but if I did, I’d want to do more than fill the coffee shop and Capitol homes with meaningless wall adornments.” He comes to a halt, closes his sketchbook, and looks up at her. “I’d want my art to have meaning, make a statement, you know.”

Katniss nods, although she doesn’t really know. She’s not sure how exactly he would go about doing that, but she understands the notion of wanting a purpose. 

Peeta studies her a moment before clearing his throat. “Maybe I could...show you more of my art...someday.” 

“Okay,” Katniss says automatically, wiping her hands of crumbs onto a cloth napkin. 

“I have some finished paintings…,” she hears him suck in some air, “upstairs.” 

“Upstairs?” Katniss’s eyes land on his. 

Peeta nods. “Yeah.” And all of a sudden, the rate at which he’s speaking increases. “That’s where I live. I have an apartment upstairs.” He motions in that general direction. “It’s relatively small,” he shrugs, “but at least I have it all to myself.”

“Oh.” Katniss stares down into her dandelion. It was hot today, so she’d wanted something cool. She spins the straw around, pondering what he’s saying. Was his remark leading? 

“Maybe I could...show you my art, and my place...and maybe...make you some dinner sometime.” 

Katniss’s eyebrows raise as her jaw drops. She finally gets it. He’s asking her on a date, isn’t he? 

Clueless as she may be about romantic things, Peeta’s uncharacteristic nervousness is unmistakable, and his intent is clear. So, what if she said yes? If she said yes and went upstairs with him to look at his art and have dinner, would he expect something else from her after? It seems fast. They haven’t even kissed yet, and now he wants to take her to his place? What is he hoping for exactly? Surely, not...that. But then again, he’s a man, and she’s a woman, and they’re in their twenties. How is he supposed to know she’s never even kissed a guy, let alone been with one intimately? And she’d feel ridiculous admitting it. 

But then she recalls something her father told her years ago. Before he died, as she was approaching adolescence, he had a talk with her about boys. Yes, it was her father, not her mother who’d told her everything she needed to know. He hadn’t been awkward about it or beat around the bush; he’d shot straight. He’d told her all the details, how everything worked, and then, he’d said something that really empowered her and stuck with her: He’d told her to never let a man take from her what she didn’t want to give. He’d said that it was her decision to make, that only when she was ready and willing was it okay and that no one should ever make her feel weird or wrong about saying no. 

She returns her attention back to Peeta. Peeta’s jaw is set, and his cheeks have gone rosy. She watches him swallow thickly, and she’s sure he’s dying in wait of a response from her. But she doesn’t know what to say. She assumes his invite is innocent, and even if it is a date, she’s not worried about him trying to force anything on her. Peeta has shown her time and again that he’s a gentleman. Not that they’ve ever really been alone together, but her gut tells her she can trust him. 

There are a couple of problems, though. One, she doesn’t want to send the wrong message. It’s not that she doesn’t like him; she’s pretty certain she does at this point, but more than that, she wouldn’t know how to act if they were alone in his place together. Not that her father hasn’t taught her the basics, but she’s never...attempted them in real life. So, if things suddenly turned...romantic, she wouldn’t have the faintest idea where to begin. But surely Peeta would… 

Peeta suddenly groans. “Oh, Katniss, I’m sorry. That was probably the worst thing I could have said. It didn’t come out right. I was just thinking we could...get to know one another. You know, in another capacity. Outside of the coffee shop.” 

She grips the edge of the bar. “You mean like a date?” 

“Yes, exactly. Like a date…But we don’t have to go to my place if you’re uncomfortable,” he adds. “We can go someplace else, anywhere you want.” 

A heavy silence passes… 

“Well, say something,” Peeta finally pleads, his breath coming out as if he’s been holding it all this time. 

“I’m not good at saying something,” she mumbles, looking away.

“Okay.” Peeta nods. “Let me put it another way, then.” He takes a deep breath. “You like me. Real or Not Real?”

Katniss’s eyes dart back and forth, her entire body beginning to tremble. 

“Katniss?” he inquires, an edge of concern to his tone. He touches her forearm lightly, and she jerks back. Hesitantly, she meets his eyes, and his search hers, probably for an explanation to her strange behavior. 

“I...I…I’m sorry,” she stammers. 

“It’s okay…” 

Clenching her fists beneath the counter, she fixes Peeta with her gaze. “I don’t...really know how I feel, Peeta. I’m just so...confused.” 

She knows immediately that she’s hurt him. He looks as if she’s just ripped his heart out and stomped on it, even though she never said she didn’t like him. But of course he’d be hurt. She’s been coming around a lot, acting like she likes him this entire time, and then she goes and tells him she doesn’t know. Maybe he thinks she’s just been coy, that it was all an act. But it wasn’t. She just hasn’t been able to pin down exactly what she’s feeling or what she wants. 

Tentatively, she looks at Peeta, and he thins his lips. “Well, let me know when you figure it out,” he says wearily, and with that, he turns and walks into the kitchen. 

Katniss leaves that afternoon feeling confused and conflicted. Her chest aches, and remembering the pained expression on Peeta’s face only makes it worse. How many times has she run out on him now? And he’s always kind; he never gives her the cold shoulder the next time he sees her. The way he walked off on her just now is the coldest he’s been. She wonders how long he’ll put up with her. Maybe he’s already done. 

She could definitely use some advice, so as much as she hates to wake Prim from a restful slumber when sleep eluded her for so many years after their father died, she decides to make an exception this time. 

Prim turns on her lamp and springs into action, sitting up in bed and patting the spot beside her. “Katniss, what’s wrong? Is something on your mind?” 

“Yeah.” Katniss takes a seat beside Prim. “I’m so sorry to wake you, but...can we talk?” 

“Of course.” 

Katniss keeps things vague, but she basically outlines her entire situation for Prim, and Prim is a great listener. She doesn’t tease her or berate her; she’s simply understanding.

“I think you’re scared, Katniss,” Prim says after she’s told her everything. “And it’s understandable considering what happened to Mom when Dad died, and the only experience you’ve really had with guys is when that boy in your high school tried to kiss you and you decked him.” They share a laugh over that. 

“But seriously,” Prim goes on, “it sounds like you really like him, and he definitely, definitely likes you from the sounds of it, so maybe you should give him a chance.” 

Katniss smiles and strokes Prim’s hair. “I should wake you up more often, Little Duck.”

They exchange another smile, and Katniss kisses Prim’s cheek before tucking her back in.

“You can join me if you want,” Prim suggests, holding the covers open for Katniss. 

“No, that’s okay. I’m feeling much better. Thanks for everything, Little Duck.” 

“Anytime.” 

***  
Unable to wait any longer, Katniss returns to the coffee shop a mere two days later, hoping that’s enough time for Peeta to have cooled off and forgiven her. When she sees him, he’s cordial, but something is amiss. She’s working up the courage to say what she’s come to when he speaks first. 

“I’m sorry about what I said, Katniss. I didn’t think. All that just flew out of my mouth because I thought you liked me, and I’ve just liked you for a long time, and…” At that, Peeta stops short and looks away, rubbing the back of his neck

A long time? They haven’t known each other for all that long…maybe a month. 

“Do you think we can...just forget it ever happened?” 

He wants to forget…? 

“If...if that’s what you want,” she says. 

Peeta’s lips part, and he presses them together. “Well, I-I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I don’t want you to stop coming here because I misread things.” You didn’t misread things, Peeta… “I want to at least stay friends. We’re friends, aren’t we? Real or Not Real?” 

She thinks a moment, and with a bob of her head, she tells him, “Real.” But she’s not answering his most recent question about friendship, but the one before, albeit a little belated, the one about liking him. 

“Good,” he says with a smile, although she gets the impression he still feels bad. “Now, what would you like today?” 

She attempts to be flirtatious by asking him to surprise her, but she’s awful at this stuff, and he’s not picking up on it. He simply says okay and turns toward the kitchen. 

“Wait, Peeta, don’t go,” she calls out. Surprised, he turns around, and she feels utterly ridiculous. “What I mean to say is...before, when I said ‘Real,’ I wasn’t...I wasn’t talking about…” She can’t seem to force the words out of her mouth; they’re sticking like that sweet taffy she once tried when a group of traveling entertainers came into the city. She squeezes her eyes shut and tries to psych herself up. 

There’s a sudden voice in her head barking, ‘Say it, say it!’ And so, she does…

“Peeta, when I said ‘Real,’ I didn’t mean to say that we’re friends. Well, yes, we are, but I was referring to your other question…” Her eyes flit away. “The one about liking you.” 

When she finally does look at Peeta, he appears as though he’s gone into a tracker jacker-induced haze. “Uh, Peeta, did you hear me?” She waves a hand in front of his face, and he comes out of it, his rapidly growing smile practically splitting his face. 

He’s reaching out for her face now, she thinks, but it’s as if he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. They finally land on her shoulders. “Really, Katniss? You really like me?” He’s grinning like an idiot, and he sounds like a little boy, but she’s smiling, too. 

“Yeah.” She nods. 

She can tell he wants to kiss her, but he probably doesn’t want to embarrass her in public, so instead, his hands move to cup her face and he presses his forehead against hers. A content smile on his lips, he shuts his eyes, and hers flutter shut, too as she takes in the warmth of his hands on her cheeks. It’s been a long time since Katniss has had a moment as happy as this one.  
As business has been booming leading up to the Games, Peeta’s been busy, and they haven’t been able to go on their date. But Katniss drops by everyday to see him, anyway, and they steal what moments they can with one another. He’s invited her to watch the Reaping at Capitol Coffee and further extended an invitation for the Tribute Parade, the interviews, and the actual Games, but he insists that those don’t count. He’s adamant that their first date is not going to involve a hundred other people and consist of watching The Hunger Games. She has to agree with him there. 

It’s the day of the Reaping, and Katniss is seated at the counter with Peeta close by. They’re watching a large projected image of Caesar Flickerman talking with Seneca Crane on the back of Peeta’s wall as is everyone else in the place. And Capitol Coffee is packed. Peeta even had to turn people out, but of course, he saved a spot for Katniss. 

Along with everyone else, Katniss and Peeta watch the footage of each district’s Reaping ceremony. The group is an interesting mix this year. Of course, the Career districts garnered the typical aggressive, highly-trained eighteen-year-olds, but there seem to be some other wild cards with intriguing skills. 

When it comes to District 11, and a little twelve-year-old by the name of Rue is reaped, it hits a little too close to home for Katniss. It’s because she reminds her so much of Prim. Not her look, exactly, but her size and something in her eyes… Katniss knows there’s no fear of Prim ever being reaped as a Capitolite, but it still manages to unsettle her. 

Peeta senses Katniss’s unease and places a hand over hers. “You okay?” he whispers. 

Katniss nods, although she isn’t exactly okay. Seeing that young, dark-skinned girl reaped just really did something to her. It put her stomach off. But why should it be so? She’s been watching the Hunger Games for years; she’s seen plenty of reapings and numerous violent deaths, more than a few being young children like Rue… In fact, they usually are the ones to be slaughtered first… 

“Uh, Peeta, could I have something to eat, something...easy on the stomach?” 

“Are you feeling sick?” he asks, concerned. 

“No,” she half-lies. At least, it isn’t a physical sickness. She just really hates seeing young children reaped, and this one especially got to her. Why, oh why does she have to remind her so much of Prim… 

“I’m okay. I just want something light,” is all she says. 

“Would you like some bread, Katniss?” 

“Bread?” Katniss likes bread, though she doesn’t eat it often, at least not by itself. 

“Yes, Katniss, bread.” He smiles. Somehow, Peeta’s smile cheers her up a little. “As you know, I’m a baker, and bread just so happens to be my specialty.” 

“Okay. Plain bread?” 

He nods. “If you want. I could also add something to it.” 

He starts to tell her about the types of bread he can make, but it’s too overwhelming, so she finally asks him to choose, saying she trusts him. His instincts have been good so far, after all. 

Peeta goes off to bake, and not long after, Katniss can smell it. The scent seems to permeate the air, wrapping its invisible arms around her in a hug. As foolish as it might sound, the bread makes her feel lighter and happy while at the same time making her salivate. He places it before her, and she’s in awe. It’s perfect. She’s never imagined describing food so highly, aside from, perhaps lamb stew, but this bread really is...perfect. It’s hearty, the perfect shape, has the perfect smell, and it’s even covered in raisins and nuts. 

“Something wrong?” Peeta asks. 

She shakes her head and continues to stare at the beautiful loaf until she hears him bark out a laugh. She looks up to see him smirking, and she scowls. 

“Not that I don’t appreciate you appreciating my food, Katniss, but are you just going to stare at it all day long?” 

Her scowl hardens. 

Peeta just chuckles. “Come on, Katniss. You act like you’ve never seen bread before. Now, you’ll want to eat it while it’s warm. Fresh out of the oven, that’s when it’s best.” 

She forgets her annoyance over him making fun of her and focuses on the bread. Peeta smiles as he watches her raise it to just below her nose and sniff it before biting in.

It’s initially crispy, then soft and moist, and oh, so delectable. Katniss takes her time at first, chewing and savoring, but not long after, she’s ravenously ripping off pieces like a mutt, despite his warnings. Peeta was right. It’s as if she’s never seen bread and hasn’t had a meal in weeks. And even though she’s devouring it rapidly, it’s just light enough to calm her stomach. 

“Well?” he asks hopefully, nudging her arm with his. 

“It’s just right, Peeta,” she says with a smile. 

How does he do it? Katniss wonders. How does Peeta always seem to know just what she needs? 

She eyes up the bread, ready for another slice. It’s only then that it dawns on her that he’s brought her a whole loaf, cut up into slices. 

“You really didn’t have to bring so much, though,” she says. 

“Well, just eat what you want.” 

“You’re not going to throw it out after, are you?” Katniss can’t stand waste. 

“No, you can take whatever’s left home with you.” 

That placates her. She can give the rest to her family or throw it to the animals next time she’s in the woods. But now that she’s tasted it, she’s not sure she’ll make it home with a single slice. 

Peeta inches a bit closer to her. “So, what’d I miss?” He breaks off a tiny piece of her bread and shoves it in his mouth. 

“Twelve,” Katniss says. 

“Oh yeah, how’d that go?” Peeta asks through a bite. 

“Well, Effie Trinket got mauled by that drunken former Victor, and he pulled her wig off. Then two timid-looking sixteen-year-olds were reaped.” The Tributes from 12 didn’t stand out to Katniss, but she recalls how warily they shook hands. She doesn’t know if they knew each other beforehand or not, but she could see the fear and mistrust in their eyes when the camera panned in. 

***  
A few days later, Katniss is back at the coffee shop, and they’re watching the Tributes Parade together. Cinna is there, too, relating tales of his days as a stylist and comments on the costumes. Lastly, District 12 shows up, and as usual, they’re in their horrible coal-mining outfits, but at least they aren’t stark naked and covered in black powder this year. It’s then that Cinna suddenly has a ‘vision,’ or at least, that’s how it appears from the look on his face. He proceeds to tell Peeta and Katniss how he would dress his tributes, and then, he starts eyeing Katniss up. 

“Why are you looking at me like that, Cinna?” she glowers. 

“It’s just...you have such...fire in you, Katniss. Your personality. I think I would have you be on fire. I’d put you in flames.” 

“Flames?” She quirks a brow. “Real flames?” She looks to Peeta, who seems amused. 

“No, not real, of course. But I know how to create a substance that would appear as flames. Portia and I were brainstorming one day, and we cooked it up.” He doesn’t laugh at his own wordplay, only grins, and it makes Katniss want to as well. 

“But the costumes are supposed to reflect the character of the district. I’m from the Capitol, Cinna,” she protests. 

“I know, but just go with it for a moment, Katniss. District 12. Coal-mining. Coal burns, so it’s related. Now, imagine with me that you’re a girl from District 12...” 

“I don’t want to imagine I’m from District 12, Cinna,” she snips. 

Cinna chuckles throatily. “See, Peeta, I’m telling you, this girl is pure fire.” Peeta bobs his head in agreement, and Cinna leans over toward Katniss, his long, thin lips curling all the way up. “If you were in the Games, Katniss, I’d definitely bet on you.” 

Katniss scoffs, then chuckles a little. “Me? In the Hunger Games? That’s ridiculous. And why would you bet on me, Cinna? I have no combat training.” 

“Yes, but you can shoot,” Peeta chimes in. 

“Animals,” she clarifies, getting back to the matter at hand. “I know how to shoot animals, not…” And it’s as if it’s the first time she’s ever realized it, that the Hunger Games is all about people killing each other. Not just people, but kids‒many of them completely inexperienced. It’s stupid because, of course, that’s what it is, and she knew it all along, but this is the first time it gives her an unsettled feeling in her stomach. 

Both Peeta and Cinna have somber expressions. They both know exactly what she’s thinking. 

“Yeah,” Peeta finally says in a dire way. “Those kids lose a lot more than their lives in the Hunger Games.” 

“What do you mean, Peeta?” 

“Well, killing another human being...I wouldn’t know, but...it must cost everything you are.”

Peeta’s words set like a rock in Katniss’s stomach. And it reminds her…

“Cinna,” she says flatly. “I’m kind of surprised you’re so excited about my hypothetical costume, considering you gave up being a stylist.” Not that she knows much about it, but upon recollection, it seemed like he had talent. 

“Yes, well,” Cinna’s gaze flicks to Peeta, then lowers for just a second. He raises his eyes to meet Katniss’s. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate fashion. There were…,” his lips quirk, but not in the amused way she’s accustomed, “let’s just say, other reasons I left.” 

Katniss nods, though she doesn’t understand a bit. 

“It wasn’t because I dislike the notion of designing a pretty dress for a pretty girl.” Cinna gives her a pointed look. “And one so strong shouldn’t be dressed in some stupid costume."

Katniss feels a touch of warmth rise in her cheeks, even though it’s just Cinna who said it. And then, for some reason, she looks over at Peeta. His lips are parted ever so slightly, and he and Cinna are engaged in something akin to a staredown. 

It doesn’t last long, though, because Cinna bursts out laughing and claps Peeta on the back. “Relax, Lover Boy. I’m not hitting on your Girl on Fire.” 

Katniss and Peeta’s mouths simultaneously drop. Apparently, they haven’t been able to keep their interest in each other a bit secret. Geez, they haven’t even gone on a date and already they’re being teased! 

A sincere smile creeps up on Peeta’s face as he looks between Katniss and Cinna. “Well, I think Katniss would look good in anything you put her in, Cinna. But you’re wrong about something.” He presses his lips together. “She’s not pretty; she’s beautiful.” 

“Mm.” 

Katniss barely hears Cinna’s mutter of acknowledgment because that stupid organ in her chest has gone and betrayed her; her heart’s rhythm has gone askew, and her cheeks are burning, also, and she’s uncomfortable with it, so she turns the situation around. “So, Cinna? What would you put Peeta in?” 

Cinna strokes his chin thoughtfully and comes to a swift conclusion. “Well, Katniss, I’d put him in flames, too, because of course, you two would be a team.” 

This floors both Peeta and Katniss, and they exchange a quick look of shock. Cinna's clearly noticed this thing between them which Katniss can’t quite put a name to yet. But, more importantly, Katniss wants to tell Cinna how stupid that is, that even if she and Peeta were district partners, they wouldn’t be a team. They would be mortal enemies trying to kill one another.

“Cinna, that would never work,” she says instead. “That’s not what the Hunger Games are about.” 

“Well,” Cinna smiles, “you never know.” 

Katniss swallows a groan and pushes back her frustration over Cinna’s lofty ideals. “Let’s just...watch the rest of the Parade,” she says. 

***To Be Continued…***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I really thought I’d get to the Games this time, but alas, I didn’t. And in general, I didn’t expect this to get so long, but it has, and now I feel powerless to stop it. So, I’m just going with it. I hope you’re enjoying it so far! Hope it’s not too slow-going. FYI, there will be at least two more parts.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, what did you think of Part I? The next part (s) will be a bit much more exciting, but I hope you enjoyed the initial buildup. This will either be two or three parts, btw, depending on how long it gets. The next part is mostly written, just needs some additions, tweaking/editing. So...stay with me? 
> 
> Teaser: Katniss comes back to the coffee shop at night, finding the place completely transformed and Peeta in a different sort of attire. Peeta tells Katniss stories of Snow and of the Victors coming into the place. Later, Peeta and Katniss watch the Reaping and the Hunger Games together, and Katniss becomes invested in a certain young Tribute. Will Katniss have any role in his/her fate in the Hunger Games? Will Peeta and Katniss grow closer? Will some of the Victors we all know and love show up? 
> 
> FYI: In this AU, if you didn’t notice, Katniss and Peeta are older than their would-be tributes. So, it still takes place surrounding the 74th Hunger Games, though Katniss and Peeta are not in them. And my apologies, but I couldn’t remember how Portia was described in the books. I tried to look it up, but I didn’t find much, so I kind of went with the movie version.


End file.
